THE JADE EARRING
by Blake's 7
Summary: Written by Maxene Graham 1932-2007 sometime between 1945 and 1965 tells the story of Mary Jane Lansing. A former Boston socialite while attempting to start a new life in suburban New York, encounters a murder mystery her first night in town. CH. 18 NOW UP
1. Chapter 1

**THE JADE EARRING**

**A STORY WRITTEN BY MAXENE OBERMAN GRAHAM (1932-2007)**

**INTRODUCTION AND TRANSCRIPTION BY ROBY GRAHAM (BLAKE'S 7)**

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am presenting this novel my mother wrote sometime between 1945 and 1965. Since my mother passed away on Christmas Eve 2007, I've uncovered a treasure trove of newspaper articles, newsletters and other works my mother did dating back more than fifty years ago. Some of which I never knew about including the story you are about to read. Before you read this story, I'd like to give you a little background about my mother.

Maxene Shirley Oberman was born on June 12, 1932 in Corry, Pennsylvania which is a small industrial, oil and mining town located fifty miles east of Erie, Pennsylvania. At the age of four, she contracted polio that left her disabled for the rest of her life. But it didn't stop her from achieving certain goals such as becoming a writer and a columnist for a major newspaper.

While growing up in Corry, my mother was a straight A student and spent most of her time studying. When she wasn't studying the basic subjects in school, she also became an accomplished pianist and singer. She graduated high school as a valedictorian in 1950. Then went to The University of Miami (Florida) where she earned an associate bachelors degree in journalism in 1954. While in college she also belonged to the Alpha Epsilon Phi sorority and wrote its newsletter as well as being the editor and continued to do this after graduation until the 1960's.

Her first job after college was for The Sea Isle Hotel on Miami Beach where she worked as their public relations director. She also wrote their weekly newsletter during her tenure there from 1955 to 1957. While in Miami, she also wrote freelance articles for The Miami Herald and upon returning to Pennsylvania also worked freelance in Corry and in Erie.

In 1967, Miss Oberman married my father in Erie, Pennsylvania. Gave birth to me a year later and divorced in 1969 having never re-married. Since we moved to Miami for good in 1971, my mother continued her writing and was the editor of the newsletter for The Democratic Women's Club of Dade County from 1972 to 1976 and also wrote the newsletter for the Miami chapter of the PTA. In 1977, she took on her dream job by working for the Miami Herald. At first she worked for the Herald doing columns for a new section of the paper at that time known as "Neighbors". This section specifically serves the areas where the readers live in Dade County from Aventura to Homestead and everywhere in between.

In 1978, my mother began working as an editor at the paper and answered the many letters sent to the editor by readers. She also had her column in which she was responsible for the Dynamite kids' page in the comics section on Sundays. Dynamite was a publication for kids written by kids at that time. After she left the paper in 1980, she took on another job with a paper known here in Miami as the "Community Newspapers". This paper specifically serves the South Miami, Kendall and Pinecrest areas of the city. She worked there from 1982 to 1985 until my grandmother had a fall in her home and eventually died a year later.

My mother retired after that and devoted the rest of her life to various organizations both professional and charitable including The Rotary Club of South Miami, The American Association of University Women, The Alumni Association of The University of Miami, Democratic Power, the Chamber of Commerce and many, many others. She helped these organizations with writing speeches, and invocations. Sadly on Christmas Eve 2007, my mother died at home of cardiac arrest at the age of seventy five. Since her death, I've received hundreds of phone calls, emails, letters and sympathy cards expressing how deeply missed she will be. I also learned recently that an essay contest for teenagers in the ROTC for which my mother helped to determine the winner was renamed in her memory. This story I'm about to present to you is my way to not only honor my mother's memory but to display the kind of literary creativity she possessed which is present in me in the Fashion Girl series you've been reading about in the last year.

There are a few things I need to point out before you read this story, first, please keep in mind that this story was written about fifty years ago and certain words and actions used were appropriate at that time. Second because this story was written so long ago, my mother didn't have a personal computer or a word processor at her disposal and when she had to make corrections, she wrote them off to the side of the paper indicated by lines or arrows by hand. Third she also had to X out certain words or sentences or crossed them out with a pen that bled a bit and might have unintentionally bled out words she meant to keep also she wrote by hand paragraphs and even two pages worth that she didn't type that I can't read too well because it was written in cursive. Although I can read her handwriting, I can't make heads or tails of where her corrections were meant for or where they were to go because on some pages, she made many corrections on the same page.

This was how writing was done before home computers for personal use. Today we can hit the backspace button to correct or change a word, sentence or paragraph but in her time, that was not an option, Wite Out or Liquid Paper wasn't invented yet. Fourth, since the story was hammered out on a typewriter and she typed until the words were barely visible in some areas because she waited until the last second to change the typewriter ribbon. So I am going to write the words I can see and will do my best to correct the words or phrases she meant to change. And finally, this work was never published and there might be some repetition in what she wrote because some of the pages weren't numbered and I'm writing this in the order the pages were in. I only glanced at this story in its original form and to me it might be a murder mystery or suspense novel. It's a completed work and at the same time it's still incomplete. I ask that if you wish to review this story, I WILL NOT tolerate flamers. If you decide to flame this story, remember you are flaming a writer who is no longer with us.

I scanned and copied this story to brand new paper because the original story was written on paper that's now old, yellowed, and very fragile. This way I won't accidentally ruin or destroy what my mother wrote. It is my intention to have my mother's unsung work presented in the manner she wished it to be presented and I sincerely hope you enjoy it. Thank you for reading it, take care and god bless.

**THE JADE EARRING BY MAXENE OBERMAN GRAHAM**

**CHAPTER I**

She thought, today is my last day in this house. She waited, hoping for some emotional reaction, waited in vain. She wondered dully if she was still capable of any natural feeling, if the paralyzing numbness that had slowly crept over her like a guilty coward would ever recede, if the red-hot bands of fire eating into her forehead would ever burn out, if the ache in her throat that was slowly choking her would ever go away so that she could shed the suppressed tears that were turning her heart into stone.

She wanted desperately to cry, to sob out her insecurity, her uncertainness for the future; she had not cried one during the funeral or the long months since, and now felt that she must or go mad.

Dimly as though in a dream she heard the old grandfather's clock in the lower hall boom out eleven times in its deep throaty voice, and she realized with no kind of emotion that she must go downstairs and be ready for Mr. Greentree when he called for her. She got up from the chair in which she had been sitting and went to the door like an obedient child; there she stopped. Here, in her bedroom, with furniture, the frilly drapes, the deep blue rug, everything which had been hers still intact, she might forget for a moment. It was only when she passed the other rooms, stripped of everything but the bare necessities she had needed while still living here, that the facts came painfully back to her. She realized with irony that even now even the house did not belong to her; soon after she had left and the remaining furniture had been delivered to its new owners, another family would be arriving to take possession. But even now she did not care beyond a fleeting feeling of regret; she was only conscious of a great weariness and a desire to rest, to get all this over with quickly so there could be no looking back, no torment at the thought of what might have been.

She had reached the stairs now; she sped down them swiftly. At the sound of her footsteps, Dorothy came to meet her, a tall thin woman in a neat dark dress, the gray braids pinned around her head, framing a kind and knowing face.

"Mr. Greentree's secretary just telephoned. He's on his way. I'll get your coat," she said crisply. "All right, Dorothy, thank you," Mary Jane murmured absently. She moved slowly across the reception hall to the front door as one in a dream, and stood at the stained glass window, looking out over the quiet snow covered street.

Behind her Dorothy had brought the brown mink coat from the closet and was laying it carefully across a chair. She murmured, "Oh, your corsage!" and hurried away.

Looking back over her shoulder, Mary Jane watched her go, bringing herself back to reality with a jerk, struggling to think coolly and deliberately, doing what she must with some measure of precision. She picked up one of her shining black patent leather boots standing by a hall table, pulled it on and zipped it up its side. She was busy with the other when Dorothy returned, brining a small celluloid box, she removed two gardenias reclining inside, still moist from the refrigerator.

She held them up to the coat. "About here do you think?"

Mary Jane nodded, "Yes, I think so," turning to look outside again, and a paralyzing chill seemed to strike at her heart. A long low limousine had pulled up to the curb and a uniformed chauffeur was helping its lone passenger, a tall distinguished looking man to alight.

Mary Jane watched as he started to climb the steps, not wanting to look, but unable to turn away. She must pull herself together, she thought. There. That was it. She was walking now stopping at the hall table to pick up a small mink hat, arranging it on her up-swept black curls, paying no attention that the face in the mirror seemed strange and unfamiliar. She scooped up her brown alligator purse and brown gloves lying on the table, and turned back to the mirror, fascinated with her reflection. It was as though she had never seen herself before.

She was barely conscious that Dorothy was holding out her coat; mechanically her arms searched for and found the wide sleeves. She pulled on the gloves, nervously waiting. Mr. Greentree had completed the long climb now and was ringing the bell; the shrill, insistent peal broke the silence that hung like a pall over the house.


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

The slight, dark eyed, dark haired young woman who, luggage in hand, stepped off the 5:40 from Boston was greeted unceremoniously by a fresh gust of wind that threatened to sweep her off with it along its winding course. The street stretching ahead of her was deserted except for the few pedestrians hurrying home for supper, heads down, collars up, braving the ferociousness of the icy North Wind. She paused for a moment by the ticket office to watch and wait, wondering if after six years she would still recognize Miriam Astor Parker, her old friend and schoolmate.

It was funny she reflected, all that happened in the past years to reverse their positions. She, Mary Jane Lansing, had been the enviable one, while Miriam had been the poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks that she had befriended. And then, years later, Mary Jane's father died from a sudden heart attack, unbelievably leaving his lavish fortune to Amy Stanton, a woman of whom she had never heard of before. She saw once at the reading of the will, a tall sharp-tongued woman of about forty-five had been wearing black crepe and mink, a small dark hat riding atop her upswept blonde hair. Her attitude toward Mary Jane was one of sympathy and sweetness, although she took no heed of the fact that Gerry Lansing's daughter had been left almost penniless.

And that was where Miriam came in.

She had attended the auction sale at the Lansing home in Boston that was now up for immediate purchase. Unfortunately, Mary Jane had been out at the time, but Miriam had left her a note offering her a job as a governess to Miriam's young son, Richard Laurence Ashworth Parker III. It seemed in the course of time Miriam had married a rich manufacturer, Richard Laurence Ashworth Parker, Jr., no less, and was residing in Kingston, a small New York suburb, with a very definite social crowd of which Mrs. Richard Parker, Jr. was the most distinguished member.

Even as she stood there, Mary Jane congratulated herself on her good fortune. After all, she mused, it wasn't often to find a friend like Miriam, one who remembered all that the other had ever done for her. And yet it would be strange, living in Miriam's home; it would almost be like accepting charity from her, she thought; but then, Mary Jane argued with herself, it was only until she got on her feet.

She shivered a little despite the warm mink she wore, wondering as she often did now exactly what Amy Stanton had meant in her father's life. The will, her lawyers had said, was perfectly legal, and it would be a waste of their time and Mary Jane's to try to break it, besides being a strain on her already dwindling cash.

She sighed and shrugging her shoulders, in a what's-the-use attitude, turned her mind to other channels, her keen blue-eyed gaze sweeping over the surrounding snowy white landscape. In the distance the horizon curved away from the valley to an ice clogged lake, then rose steeply, forming the hilly plateau to the right. Far away from a church steeple rose straight and slender against the gray winter sky.

It was really a lovely little town. Miriam must be very happy here, Mary Jane thought idly. She wondered if Miriam had changed in the past years or if she was still as lovely as ever. Miriam had been a real beauty in her high school days, brown haired, with soft velvety brown eyes, shaded by long dark lashes, tall, unusually so, slim yet almost too thin. She had an enchanting voice, very low and musical with a husky inflected drawl. In fact, everything about Miriam was enchanting, from her slender curvaceous figure to her natural easy charm that drew people to her.

Shivering a little from the cold, Mary Jane shifted her weight from one foot to another, biting her brightly colored lip in exasperation. How like Miriam to be late to forget what train she had taken, or to perhaps even have a previous engagement and make no arrangements for someone to meet her. After a moment's hesitation, she turned away to the shabby little ticket office that was small and badly in need of paint. As she opened the heavy wooden door, she felt five pairs of curious eyes look up and sweep over her from the top of her up-swept curls on which rested the tiny mink hat to the tips of her fashionable black boots.

A round, chubby, gray haired little man, obviously the station master, a tall, stout, granite-eyed policeman with a receding hairline, and a woman about forty poorly dressed in a thread-bare black coat and a shabby felt hat, stood grouped about a small black stove glowing dimly from the coals heaped inside. A few feet away, sitting on a hard wooden bench, a white haired aristocratically dressed woman looked up briefly, flicking the ashes from her cigarette in a bored uninterested manner. At a back window overlooking the railroad tracks stood a tall teen aged girl in slacks rolled to the knees, and a tan sweater, the arms pushed to her elbows, a wide satin ribbon tied with a gaudy bow around her shoulder length brown hair. She turned and looked eagerly at Mary Jane as though a newcomer was as welcome to her as a Sunday treat.

Mary Jane left two suitcases by the door, and approached the now silent group by the stove. "Where can I find a telephone?" she asked the round little man, breaking the heavy silence.

"Around the corner to your left, Ma'am," he replied in a polite but guarded voice as though reluctant to answer her. "Thank you," said Mary Jane with an amused smile. It was quite obvious from their manner that a stranger was unusual to Kingston.

She found the telephone booth easily; it was impossible to get lost in the two by four station even if a person so desired. She lifted the phone book off a rusty metal shelf nailed to the wall, and thumbed through the heavy yellowish pages. There were two Parkers listed, Harold and Richard. She repeated the latter's number for a full minute and she was about to hang up the receiver at the other end of the line clicked and a man's brisk voice answered.

"May I speak to Miri--Mrs. Parker, please," said Mary Jane as business-like as possible.

"She isn't here, I'm sorry," was the brief smoothly polite answer.

For a moment Mary Jane was nonplussed; then she said, "This is Mary Jane Lansing; Mrs. Parker was supposed to meet me at the station; do you know…" "Oh, Miss Lansing," the man interrupted respectfully, "She left here about five minutes ago for the station."

"Thank you," Mary Jane said in relief, "I'll watch for her."

She put the receiver back into its cradle, and slid back the squeaking door of the booth. The policeman and the shabbily dressed woman had left, and the station master was busily engaged in selling a ticket to a short gray coated man, whose gray hat was pulled far down over his eyes. She returned to the door and stood there for a few seconds gazing out of side window, when the young girl joined her. Mary Jane had caught only a glimpse of her before and now she was surprised to note how pretty she was, despite the shapeless outfit she wore; her eyes were sky blue, clear and deep, and her skin was something out of a cold cream advertisement.

She smiled shyly, "You're a stranger here aren't you?" she asked in a sparkling, youthful voice.

"Yes I am," Mary Jane nodded.

"My name is Phyllis Harvey; what's yours?"

"Mary Jane Lansing."

"Are you visiting someone in town?"

"I've come to work here."

"Oh-----Do you like Kingston?" Phyllis pressed.

"As much as I've seen of it," Mary Jane assured her, just as a long, low roadster with white wheels, a tan body, and grey top slid to a stop on the gravel drive outside. The driver, a tall woman, hatless, her brown hair flapping in the wind, a fitted silver fox jacket gracing her lovely figure, started across the wooden platform toward the ticket office. "Heavens, there's my ride," Mary Jane stooped to pick up her suitcases, "Good bye, Phyllis, I'll see you again."

She opened the door against the howling wind, and began to run as fast as she could, burdened as she was with the two heavy suitcases. Meeting her friend in the middle of the platform, she threw both arms around her, suitcases and all, hugging the stately figure exuberantly. Miriam drew back from the friendly embrace with customary reserve.

"Darling, Janie," she said in her lovely, husky voice holding Mary Jane at an arm's length, "How good it is to see you!"

Mary Jane smiled, her sharp gaze taking in everything. Prosperity had done wonders for Miriam. She had gained some needed weight, and she looked wonderful. Despite the cold she had not buttoned her short jacket, and Mary Jane caught a glimpse of a pencil slim black dress underneath; she wore a beautiful pin sparkling with diamonds, and a wide diamond bracelet with exquisite matching earrings. Her easy sophistication made her seem somewhat older and much wiser than twenty-four, and there was an air of mystery about her that delighted the imagination. She was like a story book princess who had at last come out of her shell.

"Goodness, Janie, we can't stand out here all day," Miriam's voice into her thoughts, "Here give me one of those suitcases, and lets go over to the car. I have the heater on and it's nice and warm." "Good enough," Mary Jane laughed, "Any place is better than that station."

Miriam laughingly made a sign for silence, "The skeleton in Kingston's closet," she whispered, sliding in under the wheel.

The interior of the car was even more pretentious than the outside; the seats were maroon, the dashboards and paneling marbleized. Miriam turned in the radio, and leaning her head back against the seat Mary Jane listened to the swelling strains of a Bach concerto as she was whisked through the deserted, windswept streets. After a time they left the business section of town following a wide well paved boulevard South Auburn Drive to the more exclusive residential section. The road was lined on both sides with great stone and brick houses surrounded by towering iron gates or brick walls.

"We're almost there," Miriam said, "Are you tired, Janie?"

"Not at all," Mary Jane replied briskly.

"Good, I've invited my brother-in-law Harold and his wife Ruth for dinner tonight to meet you; and there'll be Ruth's brother too. Are you sure you'll feel up to it?"

"Of course I will," Mary Jane assured her, "But right now I'm more anxious to meet that son of yours. How old is he Miriam?"

"He'll be three in April. Were you surprised to learn that I was married and had a child?"

"Surprised?" Mary Jane echoed, "Electrified is a better word!"

"No more electrified than I to read in the Boston paper that your father had died and left all his money to that-that woman, Alice something-or-other, wasn't it?"

"Amy," Mary Jane corrected absently, "Amy Stanton."

"Yes," Miriam nodded, "That's the name." As she spoke she gave the steering wheel a sharp turn, "Welcome home, Janie; this is Park Louise," she said warmly, bringing the car to a grinding halt on a winding gravel drive bordered on either side by a luxurious growth of green laurel and low flowering shrubs. "We'll leave the car here by the garage and walk to the house; it's only around that bend," Miriam turned off the ignition, and pocketing her keys slid out from under the wheel.

"What about my suitcases?" Mary Jane asked, joining her friend in front of the roadster.

"Otto will bring them up to your room," said Miriam.

"Otto?" Mary Jane echoed faintly.

"Gardner, chauffeur, and general handyman," Miriam explained, "Rich would be lost without him."

They started up a wide flagstone path-flanked by smooth velvety green lawns that covered with a light blanket of powdery white snow stretched away to the far corners of the estate veering slightly from the drive, leading by a winding course to Miriam's huge Colonial home- built of bright red brick that had been mellowed and aged by the passing years-set in the midst of a landscaped paradise, half hidden from sight by gnarled century old oaks whose bare branches bent and groaned under a thick coating of slender transparent icicles.

"Oh Miriam," Mary Jane murmured in awe, "I never dreamed it would be so beautiful; it's like something out of a picture book!"

Miriam nodded, "It's even lovelier in the summertime when the flowers are in bloom. We have a tennis court and swimming pool in back of the house."

"I'm going to love it here," Mary Jane cried, her eyes shining.

"Janie, honey, I hope so," Miriam replied with deepest sincerity.

As Mary Jane's eyes followed the winding path that led to Miriam's lovely home she felt nothing but peace with the world and herself, and contentment. Another emotion stirred too, something vague and deep within her but not altogether disturbing. A premonition perhaps of things to come, but then what Mary Jane didn't know didn't hurt her for the time being anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

The next instant, however, all premonitions and mixed emotions vanished as they mounted the broad stone front steps and crossed the wide shadowy veranda. Jeeves, the tall white-haired butler who met them at the door, took their coats, and Mary Jane followed Miriam across the spacious thickly carpeted entrance hall done in beige and ivory with soft undertones of muted lavender in the slender, armless backed chairs tufted in small pale yellow satin flowers, and up the broad curving staircase to the second floor. They stopped before the open door of the nursery, where a little boy with pale brown hair sat eating his supper under the watchful eye of a uniformed maid.

Miriam took his hand and brought him over to Mary Jane. "Janie, this is Dickie," she said by way of introduction.

The little boy looked up at Mary Jane shyly, his bright blue eyes opened wide with curiosity, but he did not retreat. Richard Laurence Ashworth Parker III faced the situation squarely.

Mary Jane smiled, "Hello, Dickie."

He responded with a grin that lit up his grave little face like a light. "Hello. Are you going to be my gov'ness?"

Mary Jane nodded, "Yes I am, and I hope we're going to be good friends, Dickie."

Once outside the door, Mary Jane exclaimed, "He's a darling, Miriam!"

"He liked you, Janie," Miriam said, "I could tell," She opened the door of a room across the hall. "This is to be your room, Mary Jane. I had your trunk brought in here; it came yesterday."

Mary Jane moved past Miriam into the center of the bedroom; it was charming, dominated by a high canopied bed flanked on either side by windows overlooking the garden. In addition there were a small fireplace, two comfortable looking chairs done in chintz, a mirrored vanity, and a small bureau. The door that led to the adjoining bathroom was ajar and Mary Jane caught a glimpse of pale green tile.

"I'll leave you now," Miriam said, "You probably want to rest." At the door she paused and turned her head, "Ring the bell by your bed if you want help unpacking. Cocktails at seven-thirty," she added. She stepped out into the hall and closed the door softly behind her.

Left alone, Mary Jane unbuttoned her suit coat and taking it off hung it on the back of the vanity bench. She noticed for the first time that the steamer trunk she had sent by express two days before was lying on the floor next to the bureau. She looked at it reflectively deciding to wait until morning before unpacking.

She dropped onto the bed, and stretched out, her head on the pillow. It had begun to snow, and the white flakes drifted quietly past the window to earth. She must have dropped off to sleep, for when she next opened her eyes it was dark outside, and the lights from the ground floor were casting a yellow glow over the white blanket of snow that covered the garden.

A little confused by her strange surroundings, Mary Jane groped for the light switch near the door. She blinked in the sudden brilliance, and looked down at her watch. It was a little before seven. She would have to hurry and dress before dinner.

Her two suitcases were lying side by side against one of the cream colored walls. Someone-probably either Otto or Jeeves-had brought them while she was sleeping. She took a small flat key from her wallet and inserted it in one of the locks. She threw back the lid hastily for her white woolen dressing gown.

She undressed and hung her blouse and suit in the big cedar lined closet; then pulling on furry white bedroom slippers headed for the bathroom to see about a quick shower, armed with a toothbrush and bathing cap, fresh underwear thrown over her arm. The bathroom with its yellow curtains and green tile was long and narrow. Mary Jane discovered plies of fluffy washcloths, bath and face towels in a small cupboard at one end of the tub; after selecting what she need, she pulled on the bathing cap, and throwing her robe over a small chair, stepped under the warm shower she had started to run.

It was fifteen minutes after seven when she returned to the bedroom relaxed and refreshed. She sat down at the chintz skirted vanity, and combed and brushed her hair until it cascaded to her shoulders in a smooth shining sweep. The dinner dress she selected was green, high necked and cap sleeved with a tight bodice and a long full skirt swirling in billowy folds like floating foam to the floor, tied at the waist with a wide ornamental gold belt. She slipped her feet into gold clogs, and applied her make-up with swift even strokes.

Standing before the mirror she fastened on the final touches; gold earrings, a gold necklace, a slender gold barrette in her hair, a gold bracelet on her wrist. Pleased with her reflection she picked up the pale yellow chiffon handkerchief she had left lying on the bed and then, mindful of the time, left the room. The long hallway was lit at both ends, and she found the stairs easily. The ground floor was ablaze with lights. She crossed the entrance hall and stood straight and slim in the wide archway leading off to the spacious aqua and ivory drawing room.

Miriam saw her almost immediately. She set her cocktail on the coffee table and came slowly, gracefully across the room, arms outstretched.

"Darling" she said, "How lovely you look-and what a perfectly gorgeous dress," she smiled her lovely enchanting smile. She was wearing a black, low cut and trimmed with shimmering black sequins, and her brown hair was in a bun on top of her head.

With an arm about Mary Jane's slender waist, Miriam drew her into the center of the room. She introduced her to her husband, ending by saying, "My two favorite people should get to know each other."

Mary Jane smiled up at Richard Parker, Jr., with interest. Miriam's husband! He was tall and well groomed; perhaps not the handsomest man in the world but his face was warm and humorous and radiated vitality. Mary Jane liked him at once.

From across the room the tall dark haired man leaning against the mantelpiece, said, "It will take Miriam an hour to get around me, Miss Lansing. I'm Harold Parker and I'm playing bartender tonight. What will you have?"

Mary Jane decided on a Manhattan and Harold busied himself with ice and glasses and bottles. He looked a great deal like Richard although he was about five years older. Miriam gave her brother-in-law an exasperated glance. "That's Harold," she murmured. She drew Mary Jane over to the woman sitting on the aqua and black and ivory striped satin divan. Ruth Parker was pretty and polite in a blue-violet dress that matched her eyes, and her silky blonde hair framed her small well-shaped head like a golden halo. Standing beside her, cocktail glass in hand was a tall blond young man, Ruth's brother, Gene Richardson.

Mary Jane acknowledged both introductions, and Miriam waved her into a chair. She said, "Are you hungry, Janie? Dinner should be ready any minute now."

Harold brought the Manhattan in a fragile stemmed cocktail glass across the room, and handed it to Mary Jane. She thanked him and sipped it slowly listening to the buzz of conversation around her. Ruth was full of talk about the party she was giving the following night.

"And of course you've invited, Mary Jane," she said, "It will give you a chance to meet all of Kingston's staunchest citizens."

Jeeves announced dinner then, and they filed slowly into the impressive blue and white dining room that was aglitter with silver and glassware and delicate hand-painted china lit only by tall white candles in two stately candelabras in the center of the long mahogany table polished to a gleaming satin finish, and took the places Miriam indicated. The dinner that followed was both perfectly served and deliciously cooked; shrimp cocktail, broiled steak, delicately browned candied sweets, a variety of fresh vegetables, a tossed green salad. Dessert, coffee and cherry jubilee was served in the drawing room before a roaring open fire.

Mary Jane discovered two things during dinner: that life around the Parkers was definitely restful and charming, and that she liked Gene Richardson immensely. He sat on her right during dinner and kept up a fire of rapid talk that both amused and delighted her.

He told her a little about himself; he had traveled the globe as a foreign correspondent for a New York newspaper before coming to Kingston at Ruth's insistence to recuperate from a recent operation. He liked rumbas, the fast exciting tempo of the newspaper world, crazy hats, and, he added with a grin, brunettes.

She set her empty coffee cup and saucer on a glass topped end table, and smiled up at him.

"Would you tell me that if I were a blonde?" she teased.

"Probably." I love the unvarnished truth," he replied solemnly.

"Is that why you're a reporter?"

"That and a few other things," he said lightly. He whisked his cigarette case from an inside pocket, and lit cigarettes for both of them, deftly changing the subject. "How do you like Kingston?" he asked.

"It's a nice little town," she replied.

"As little towns go," Gene said, "Personally they bore me."

"Yes," Mary Jane said slowly, "I imagine they do."

He flashed her a quick look, "Why do you say that?"

She shrugged, "You're not the rural type," she said lightly,

"Are you?" he countered swiftly.

She laughed a little, "No I suppose not. We're the kind of people who thrive on the big city."

He said nothing, and they smoked silently for a few minutes. Outside the sky was a dull inky black and a shrill wind whistled about the house rattling doors and windows, sweeping great clouds of powdery white snow before it.

"What a night!" Ruth said snuggling into a corner of the divan. "It's liable to blow itself into a gale!"

Miriam yawned languidly as though the possibility of a severe storm did not interest her. She was curled up in an enormous wing chair; feet drawn under her, her sleek beautifully formed head back against the soft bright cushions. One smooth white arm lay in her lap while the other swung idly against the side of the chair. She had never been as beautiful as now-relaxed and graceful-in all the years Mary Jane had known her.

Gene ground a half-smoked cigarette into an ashtray and stretching his long legs said lazily, "How about some music?" He rose and catching Mary Jane's hand in his own drew her to her feet and over to the combination radio-phonograph in a corner of the room by the doorway. He selected a record, a dreamy waltz about somebody's heart winging to heaven, and almost before Mary Jane realized it she was in Gene's arms and they were gliding across the thick rugs in step with the music. He danced well; he made you feel a part of himself as you moved to the swinging rhythm of the music. They circled the room passing Harold who was mixing cocktails by the front windows and gliding by the big white fireplace.

It must have been almost midnight; afterwards Mary Jane was never quite sure. One moment the room had been merry with talk and laughter and music when suddenly the electric lights flickered and went out as though an invisible hand had extinguished them.

There was a sudden startled silence; the Richard said impatiently, "Good lord, the main fuse must have blown out!"

Miriam asked anxiously, "You can fix it, can't you?"

Richard nodded, forgetting they could not see his nod in the darkness. He fumbled in his pocket for his lighter; reflected in the wide gilt mirror ever the fireplace by the flickering yellow light their faces looked oddly drawn and strangely unfamiliar.

There was a sudden scratching sound as the record on the phonograph ended with a romantic chord and faded away. Gene's arm slid slowly from around Mary Jane's slim waist, and he groped his way across the room to turn it off. He almost ran into Jeeves who appeared in the archway as if by magic, holding one of the tall white candles that had been in the dining room aloft. His white hair gleamed in the candlelight that threw his shadow on an opposite wall making him unusually tall and grotesque looking.

Suddenly for no reason at all Mary Jane felt afraid, a strange unexplainable fear that had subconsciously haunted her since that afternoon when she had stood with Miriam looking up at the big brick house. It was nothing she could put her finger on really and yet it was there. She felt rather foolish too, standing in the center of the room where Gene had left her. She sat down hastily beside Ruth on the divan.

She sat stiffly, running the yellow chiffon handkerchief through the fingers. She wanted to say something, to tell someone of the awful fear that engulfed her; it gave her a strangely powerless feeling as though the inevitable must happen and she could do nothing to prevent it. She dropped the handkerchief in her lap and pressed her hands against her throat to relieve an odd choking tension.

She turned her head, her eyes seeking and finding Gene, imploring him to help her, but he was talking with Richard, his back turned to her. Her gaze shifted to Miriam. She was standing now, her bare shoulders and long white arms gleaming in the faint light, her smooth lovely face calm, calm and yet she looked faintly annoyed as though wishing herself somewhere else. Beside Mary Jane on the divan, pretty little Ruth Parker stirred restlessly, smoothing the folds of her dinner dress over her lap.

Harold downed the remainder of a Martini with a bored expression. He turned to Miriam with a little bow and said suavely, "Shall we dance?"

"Don't be silly, Harold," Ruth snapped with an edge of impatience in her voice.

It was getting on everyone's nerves, Mary Jane realized. Richard turned then and said calmly, "Don't worry. We'll have to put a new fuse in, but it won't take too long; ten minutes at the most," he said something then in a low voice to Jeeves and the two men started for the cellar. Jeeves left the candle on a small table near the archway as he went by, and turned on the flashlight he had brought. Above the rising storm outside the sound of their footsteps soon died away down the hall.

The howl of the wind with the creaking and groaning of the trees on the lawn made conversation impossible. It was eerie sitting there in the half light; the candle cast a warm glow around the room, but did not shed enough light to dispel the dark shadows deep in the corners. The time dragged slowly, two minutes, three, four, five…

Suddenly, unable to sit still any longer, Mary Jane rose and prowled restlessly around the room. She knew that the others were watching her, she sensed their eyes followed her every movement. She stood for a moment before the French doors, closed and locked against the winter, that lead out onto a brick patio and the garden beyond. She closed her eyes, trying to picture how it would all look in the summertime, all green and lush, with the flowers in bloom-

A hand on her arm made her start and whirl around. It was Gene standing close behind her; he said, "Relax, honey. You're jumpy as a cat." He smiled reassuringly and held out his cigarette case; it was gold with his initials stamped in square black letters on one corner.

She took a cigarette and said, "Thank you."

He bent and held the flame of a match to the tip. It was strange, she thought, how his very nearness gave her a feeling of strength and security. He whispered in her ear, "You look very lovely by candlelight."

She smiled up at him, "You're full of flattery, tonight, Mr. Richardson. Are you always like this?"

"A reasonable amount of the time and the name isn't Mr. Richardson, Miss Lansing."

They laughed together. Harold coming over to them with two cocktails said, "Here, thought you could use them. What's so funny?"

"You, my esteemed brother-in-law," Gene chuckled, "Where's yours?" indicating the cocktails.

"I'm laying off the rest of the evening," Harold said, "Ruth likes me sober."

"Ruth's got sense," Gene retorted.

"My friend," Harold scoffed; he turned with a wave of his hand and walked away.

"There's a great guy," Gene said softly, half to himself. After a moment he held his glass high, "What shall we drink to?"

"Us?" Mary Jane suggested,

"Us it is. To us Janie."

He hadn't called her Janie before; she felt a little shiver of excitement run through her.

Gene tasted his drink and said appreciatively, "Harold sure can mix 'em."

She nodded, sipping the cocktail slowly. The liquor sent a warm glow buzzing around her brain, and she felt deliciously relaxed. She finished the drink, and set her empty glass on a table, and as she did so a sudden cold wind swept through the drawing room chilling her with its iciness. The candle flickered, burned steadily for a moment, flickered again, and went out.

Annoyance in her low lovely voice, Miriam said over the howl of the wind, "Where in the house could a draft have come from?"

Apparently no one seemed to have an answer. The storm continued to rage but inside the big drawing room it was strangely quiet. Mary Jane took a step forward, tripping and almost falling over her long skirt.

Gene said, "Here, give me your hand." He lit a match and guided by the flickering light led her back to the others grouped around the fireplace. He pushed her gently into a chair, and let the match go out.

They sat in darkness for some minutes, the only light coming from the dying embers in the fireplace. And then, suddenly, the electric lights blinked on again.

"Well," said Miriam, "That was such quick work after all," She rose and laughed back over her shoulder. "Our electricians deserve a welcoming committee," She stood for a moment silhouetted in the archway, and then disappeared into the hall.

Harold said, "This calls for a drink-"when Miriam screamed, loudly, piercedly. Startled and frightened, Mary Jane sat woodenly unable, for a moment, to do anything; then she jumped to her feet and followed the others into the hall.

Then she saw it; it was a horrible sickening sight. Miriam stood to one side of it, a hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise and horror and fear. It lay on the floor in the center of the hall near the front door; half dazed Mary Jane had a jumbled impression of a fur coat and blonde hair and a limp white hand, and there was something thick and red staining the back of the coat, dripping down one side to the rug.

In all her life Mary Jane had never known such complete violent terror; she prayed desperately that she might turn her eyes away from that horrible sight, but she continued to stare at the woman lying on the rug.

She was dead. What made her feel that beyond the splotch of blood that stained the woman's coat, she did not know, but she was dead. She thought wildly, that woman is dead, dead, and she was murdered. She couldn't have shot herself in the back………..

And then as though coming from a great distance, she heard footsteps on the cellar stairs, and a moment later more footsteps following and Richard's voice, "There you are, Jeeves. I lost you for a minute in the dark."

She heard the slight squeak of the cellar door as it opened and Richard and Jeeves stepped into the hall. Richard said gaily, "Hello, everybody, how are the work-"he stopped suddenly and came over to them.

He gazed silently at the still figure on the rug, and then lifted his eyes Miriam. "How did it happen?" he asked.

"I don't know," Miriam replied in a strange tense little voice, "I came out here after the lights went on to meet you. I found it-her here."

Richard squatted on the floor and rolled the woman part ways over, to feel her pulse. "She's dead," he said in a voice full of a flat sort of finality, "Shot-and there's no gun. Murder is a better word. We'll have to call the police."

"Who is she?" Mary Jane whispered unsteadily.

Richard shrugged, "I don't know. I've never seen her before."

He rolled the dead woman over, so that the light might shine fully on her face. Ruth gasped and hid her face against Gene who put an arm about her trembling shoulders, and Mary Jane wondered if she could trust her eyes.

She said slowly, deliberately, "I know who it is."

Richard flashed her a quick glance and Ruth raised her head. Everyone was silent waiting for her to continue.

She swallowed heavily and finished in a shaky voice, "Her name is Amy Stanton."


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

The storm outside had abated somewhat; the wind had died down and the night had become cold and crystal clear. Miriam stared at Mary Jane and said, "Amy Stanton-"

Richard said sharply, "Are you sure that's who it is?"

"Yes, Yes," Mary Jane cried a note of hysteria in her voice, "I'm sure, I'm positive, I-" she stopped to catch her breath, then rushed on, "I saw her once, but I could never forget the face-so calculating, so cruel somehow-oh, I don't know! It's so hard to explain, I---" she broke off twisting the yellow chiffon handkerchief she still clutched through her fingers.

Richard said again, "We'll have to call the police." He rose and glanced around him. "Jeeves!"

"Yes, sir," said the butler who had stood forgotten among the shadows of the base of the curving staircase.

"Where are the other servants?"

"I don't know for certain, sir. In the kitchen, I presume, except Otto of course, and he's in his quarters-at least that's where he said he was going, sir." Jeeves added a bit doubtfully.

Mary Jane listened and yet did not hear; a sort of numbness crept over her and their voices dimmed in her ears. She could think of only one thing; through the chaos of her mind only one thought stood out as clearly as if it were written before her, Amy Stanton is dead, she thought, Amy Stanton is dead and someone murdered her…..

Miriam said, "This is all rather ridiculous. A woman we don't even know-murdered in our own front hall of all places. Why?"

She watched Richard's retreating back as her went to the library to telephone. What would he say? She wondered. What could he say- a woman has been murdered in my front hall?

Against her will her eyes traveled downward to the rug again. She looked at Amy Stanton dispassionately; the mink coat, the soft blonde hair, the full red lips; they were the same as they had been the day Gerry Lansing's will had been read. Only the face was different; no bright malicious smile played about the lips, the brown eyes no longer glittered triumphantly; Amy Stanton's features were strangely gentle in death.

Mary Jane's lips quivered and she looked quickly away. She glanced at Miriam who was once more calm and unmoved by all that had happened; at Harold who was lighting a cigarette with shaky fingers; at Ruth whose color was slowly coming back; at Gene who still supported his sister; looked at them and thought, one of them is a murderer.

And then another thought came to her; suppose one of the servants had killed Amy Stanton? That would simplify everything. And again, would it?

She broke off her confused thoughts abruptly as the old numbness began to creep over her again. I can't think any more, she told herself, I'm so tired……….

The soft thud of footsteps turned her into the hall from the kitchen where he had been sent to inform the other servants what had happened, followed by a stout little woman of early middle age whose black suit was a startling contrast to her beautiful snow white hair. Just looking at her you could sense her briskness and efficiency.

"I was just going home, Mrs. Parker," she said disdainfully as though resenting the intrusion upon her plans.

"I'm terribly sorry, Adelaide, but-" Miriam stepped neatly aside so that Amy Stanton's still figure was in full view.

"Oh, my," the little woman paled instantly flustered, "How was the poor woman killed?"

"She was shot," said Richard evenly. He had come out of the library and down the hall so quietly they had not noticed him. He turned to Miriam, "I managed to get hold of Chief Kelly. He'll be out here as soon as possible."

"In the meantime," said Harold, "I see no reason why we shouldn't go back into the drawing room and sit down. After all," he shrugged, "None of us, except Mary Jane of course, have ever known Amy Stanton."

"Then why was she murdered here-in our front hall?" Richard countered, his voice hard.

Harold shrugged again, and waved his cigarette, but said nothing. Ruth flashed him a glance, but he did not return her look. He seemed rather preoccupied, intent of his own thoughts.

Gene, who had been standing quietly by, said, "Harold's probably right," and crossed the hall to the archway where he turned and asked, "Coming?"

"We're right behind you," said Miriam when the wail of a police siren far down the road, shattered the stillness of the quiet winter night.

"The police!" exclaimed Adelaide, awe in her voice.

They waited in a tense silence until with a screeching of brakes and crunching of chains on the snow covered drive; the police car drew to a halt. Mary Jane thought, If this were a movie I'd laugh……

Jeeves opened the door to admit the officers; Chief Kelly in the lead was a short wiry little man with graying brown hair whose keen brown eyed gaze seemed to take in everybody and everything in a single glance, followed by two uniformed policemen.

The chief knelt on the floor beside Amy Stanton; he made a hurried examination of the bullet wound and said, "No, gun, eh?"

"None that we found," said Richard.

Chief Kelly rose to her feet. "We'd better get her down to the coroner's office. I'll have to use your phone, Mr. Parker."

"Of course," said Richard, "Anytime. Adelaide, will you please show Chief Kelly to the telephone?"

Some of the efficiency Mary Jane had sensed in Adelaide had returned; she said briskly, "Right this way sir, if you please."

They went down the hall together, Adelaide in the lead. Mary Jane watched them go with an odd feeling of vague unreality; even Miriam's lovely oval face seemed unfamiliar.

Harold said, "I think I need a drink," and vanished into the drawing room.

Adelaide who had left Chief Kelly at the door of the library was coming back down the hall looking a little perplexed, her thin lips drawn in a straight line. Adelaide, thought Mary Jane, was worried about something-or was it someone?

A minute dragged by slowly, the suddenly farther down the hall beyond the stairs the library door opened again, quietly, swinging back on its hinges; Chief Kelly was not alone as he came back down the hall. He was leading a young woman by the arm, a lovely young woman with dark brown hair, deeply tanned by some tropic sun, holding herself stiffly erect, wearing a bright red suit and matching shoes.

"Norma!" said Adelaide sharply.

The dark haired girl said sullenly, "Let go of me!" With a quick movement she pulled her arm out of Chief Kelly's grasp, and tossed her dark head defiantly, "Just who do you think you are, pushing me around?" she demanded dramatically in a clear high voice. She spoke with an easy graceful manner, but her eyes were dark with anger and her perfectly formed dark red mouth looked tight and ugly.

Chief Kelly flicked back one of his coat lapels; his badge flashed in the light. Chief Arthur Kelly, police headquarters," he said, "A woman has been murdered here tonight. Who are you and what were you doing in the library?"

She looked convincingly astonished; and said in a subdued voice, "I'm sorry; I acted like a child. My name is Norma Turner. I'm visiting my Aunt Adelaide," she added with a glance at Adelaide, "I came down in my car tonight to take her home-"

"How long ago was that?" Kelly interrupted.

Norma glanced down at her watch, "About an hour and a half."

"Where did you leave your car?" Kelly asked. "It wasn't on the driveway when I came up."

"It's in the garage," Norma said, "I was afraid I might get stuck in the driveway if I came all the way up to the house; there's so much snow. Otto said it would be alright since there was enough room."

"Go on," said Kelly.

"When I got here Aunt Adelaide wasn't ready to leave yet so I went into the library to read. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew you were in the room. Suddenly her anger flared again, "And I know nothing about a murder!" She declared hotly.

Chief Kelly looked at her shrewdly, and then turned to Richard. "Where did you telephone me from Mr. Parker?"

"The library," said Richard quietly.

"And you didn't see Miss Turner?" "No, I didn't. But then I wasn't paying attention to the rest of the room. I telephoned and went out. She must have slept straight through." "I see," said Chief Kelly, but what he saw exactly was not entirely clear to Mary Jane.

They were interrupted by a sharp clanging as the ambulance turned in at the gate. They retreated to the drawing room and fortified with the cocktails Harold mixed then took up stations at the front windows as two white coated orderlies carried a stretcher out of the house and into the ambulance, followed by Dr. Baldwin, the coroner, and Chief Kelly. The latter two stood for a few seconds by the Doctor's car, smoking and talking in low tones, before Baldwin departed and Kelly came back into the house.

He looked grim; grim and determined, Mary Jane thought, regarding him over the rim of her cocktail. He refused the drink Harold offered him, and asked his first question, "Who identified the body?"

Mary Jane felt herself stiffening; she had known the question would come and was secretly dreading it, for with Amy Stanton's death the whole sordid affair regarding her father's will would be dragged into the open again. She felt a little sick and the whole world seemed to be revolving around her.

She steadied herself with an effort and said quietly, "I did."

She felt Kelly's eyes on her, but she dared not look at him, and surprisingly enough he did not question her further. He said merely, "I see," and turned to Richard, "You said over the telephone that the main fuse had blown out; how long did it take you to fix the lights, Mr. Parker?"

"Well roughly, about twenty to twenty-five minutes, I'd say we ran into some complications downstairs."

Kelly's eyes narrowed slightly, but it was difficult to guess what he was thinking. He said at last softly, "Murder is bad business," he looked from one to the other as if trying to read into their thoughts then turning on his heel strode out of the room, almost colliding with Adelaide who was hurrying through the archway into the room watch-fully balancing an elaborate coffee service of delicate hand-wrought gold on an exquisite gold tray patterned in a delicate leaf and fern design. He sidestepped neatly and with a delicate sniff Adelaide sailed on and carefully set the tray on the coffee table.

Miriam poured a cup rather abstractly and carried it over to Ruth who sat in a corner of the divan looking small and fragile and unmistakably frightened.

"Here, darling," Miriam said gently.

Ruth accepted the coffee with a ghost of a smile. "I still can't quite grasp it," she said in a small voice, "Thing's like this just don't happen to people like us." But they do, Mary Jane thought, pouring herself a cup of coffee with shaking hands, no one is immune, not really.

In the slight pause that followed Norma Turner, Adelaide's niece, stood up and said impatiently, "Why in God's earth doesn't he let us go home?" She took a cigarette and jabbed it viciously against the back of her hand. "I'm tired."

Gene watched her with a slight sardonic smile. "You just had a nap, Norma, he said casually, "In the library, remember?"

Norma whirled around to face him, eyes blazing, "What are you to trying to say, Gene? That I lied?"

"Oh, for God's sake, Norma, he isn't saying anything," Harold said, impatiently flicking the ashes from his cigarette.

"Really," Norma questioned lightly glancing over the flame of a match, "I'm not so sure,"

"Alright, Norma," Miriam snapped, "Haven't we enough trouble without being divided among ourselves?"

Norma took a long breath of smoke before answering, "Of course. You're right," and abruptly sat down.

There was another short pause before Chief Kelly came back into the room. Miriam offered him cigarettes and coffee, and after accepting both he said, "I'd like to get some things straightened out tonight if possible," he produced a notebook and pencil, "You say, Mr. Parker, that light fuse blew out. Approximately what time was that?"

"About midnight. I remember looking at my watch just a little before the lights went out."

"Did you go down the cellar alone? That's where your fuse box is isn't it?"

"We put in the new fuse and came back upstairs. Everyone was in the hall and when I came up to them I saw the-body, I felt for her pulse but I knew she was dead. I guessed at murder immediately. There was no gun and she was shot in the back."

Kelly nodded and Richard continued, "Mary Jane-Miss Lansing asked me who it was but I didn't know. I'd never seen the woman before. I turned her over and Mary Jane identified her as Amy Stanton."

"She's not one of the local people," Kelly said, "Where is she from Miss Lansing?"

"I don't know. I met her only once in Boston," Mary Jane replied evenly. "Who introduced you?"

Mary Jane's lips curled in an ironic smile, "My father's lawyer."

Suddenly Kelly snapped his fingers, "Wait a minute! Lansing, Gerald Lansing wasn't it. 'Millionaire deprives only child of enormous wealth.' It was in all the New York papers. Gerald Lansing was your father, wasn't he, Miss Lansing?"

Mary Jane nodded wordlessly.

"And Gerald Lansing left his money to a woman you had never heard of, or so you claimed. Isn't that right, Miss Lansing? And that woman's name was Any Stanton!" Kelly concluded triumphantly, "What are you doing here, Miss Lansing? Kingston is a number of miles from Boston."

"She's here because I asked her to come," Miriam stormed angrily rising to her feet, "If you believe Janie guilty why don't you come right out and say it instead of insinuating things!" Miriam stopped a little breathlessly and for a moment the world did a crazy dance in front of her eyes. She swayed a little, and caught the edge of a table to keep herself from falling.

"Miriam! Darling, what's wrong?" Richard put an arm about her waist and gently eased her back onto the soft cushions of the wing chair.

Miriam leaned her head back and said faintly, "I almost fainted. Isn't that queer? I never faint."

"It isn't at all queer to me," Richard said firmly, "You've had too much excitement and shock for one night."

He poured a glass of brandy and held it to her lips, "Here, darling, drink this. Do you feel any better?"

Miriam smiled, "Rich please stop hovering over me like a mother hen. I'm perfectly all right. I don't know what came over me; I just feel terribly tired, that's all."

"Of course you feel tired," Richard agreed promptly, "After all that's happened and now this fainting spell." He glanced over his shoulder at the police officer, "Chief Kelly, my wife belongs in bed."

"So do I, Mr. Parker," Kelly observed dryly, "It's almost one-thirty. I guess a good night's sleep won't hurt any of us." He rose, putting notebook and pencil back into his pocket. "I'm leaving one of my men on duty here tonight, just in case he's needed. I'll be back in the morning. I hope you'll be feeling better, Mrs. Parker. Good-night."

He nodded and went out; for a few moments after he left they were silent; it was only when they heard the sound of his departing car on the driveway did Richard say, "How do you feel now, darling?"

"Like a fool," Miriam said dryly, "Blowing up the way I did! But I just couldn't stand by and let him practically accuse Janie of murder!"

Mary Jane smiled wryly, "I suppose he thinks it's a cut and dry case. I had both the motive and the opportunity to do it."

Ruth said a little bewildered, "But why did Amy Stanton come here to the house-to Kingston even, in the first place? To see you Mary Jane?"

Mary Jane shrugged, "Perhaps; your guess is as good as mine; but what reason could she have had for wanting to see me?"

Gene said flatly, "While we're playing questions and answers, how did Amy Stanton get in the house? Through a door, a window? And don't you think it was a little obvious of the murderer to kill her practically under our noses? Someone is evidently trying to frame us. And doing a pretty good job of it too." He added grimly.

"Assuming, of course, that one of us didn't kill Amy Stanton," Richard said with a short hard laugh.

There was a light step in the hall and an instant later Jeeves stood framed in the archway looking uneasy but speaking in his usual calm and dignified manner, "Excuse me, sir, will that be all for tonight?"

Richard nodded, "I believe so, Jeeves. You may go to your quarters."

"Thank you, sir," the butler bowed stiffly and backed away and as if by cue Ruth rose, still drawn and shaken but nevertheless putting on a good act by smiling and saying in as steady a voice as she could manage: "Darling we must be going home; it's late and we all need some rest." She took Miriam's hand in her own and held it tightly, "Don't worry-about anything," she said softly, "It will all turn out for the best."

"I don't know what to say," Miriam admitted ruefully, "With all that's happened-" her voice trembled and broke and she bit her lip fiercely forcing a smile.

Harold who had disappeared into the hall came back now with Ruth's coat slung over his arm; he helped her on with it and said with a smile, "Exciting evening, wasn't it? But I wouldn't worry about it too much. Let the police take care of it; that's what they're being paid for. "He patted Miriam's arm reassuringly, then turned to Richard with something about, "that Wales contract."

"Men's talk," Ruth said almost fretfully, "As if they don't get enough of it at the plant all day."

Miriam nodded understandingly, glancing back over her shoulder. "You're very quiet, Janie," she said at last.

Mary Jane smiled a little, "I was just thinking how fate arranges things; funny isn't it?"

"You mean about-" Ruth hesitated slightly, "Amy Stanton?"

Mary Jane nodded crumpling the yellow chiffon handkerchief in her hand as Adelaide, her poise still severely shaken; unsteady came back into the room for the tray.

"Thank you, for the coffee, Adelaide," Miriam smiled warmly, "It was good of you to think of it but I'm afraid you went to a lot of extra trouble."

"It was no trouble at all," Adelaide insisted stoutly, gathering up the empty cups. A minute later she left the room accompanied by Norma who trailed languidly after her.

"We'd better be going too before you throw us out," said Harold, "Ready, Gene?"

"Hmmm?" Gene looked up startled as though his thoughts had been many miles away from the brightly lit drawing room and the recent tragedy that was still uppermost in their minds, "Oh, oh, yes, I'm ready." He ground his cigarette into a gold ashtray on the coffee table and rose.

They went into the hall, almost unconsciously stepping around the smear of blood on the carpet. The policeman Kelly had left on guard sat in one of the small chairs near the base of the curving stairs, his blue cap hung rakishly over the smooth mahogany newel post, his blue clad figure looking big and solid and substantial.

"Good idea of Kelly's," said Harold glancing at him, "You never know-well good night everybody." He gave them a sort of backward wave, holding open the front door for Ruth and Gene.

The house was strangely quiet after they left and Richard closed the door behind them. Miriam turned toward the stairs with a short weary sigh. "I'm terribly sorry this had to happen, Janie, of all times, your first night here."

"We're really quite nice people when we don't find a body in our front hall," Richard added with a mirthless laugh.

They started up the winding stairs, Miriam in the lead, Richard and Mary Jane following. Once Miriam glanced back at them over her shoulder, "This will be something to tell my grandchildren about anyway." She said grimly.

"You're getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you, darling?" Richard laughed.

They had reached the upper hall; Richard said, glancing down the long corridor, "Do you know which room is yours, Janie?"

"Third from the front on the left hand side isn't it?"

"That's right," Miriam yawned slightly, "Well, good night, darling, see you in the morning." But with her hand on the door knob of her room, she paused, and said turning swiftly and earnestly, "Go home, Janie, back to Boston; go anywhere but go, now, tonight before it's too late!"

It was so unexpected that for a moment Mary Jane was stunned. She looked helplessly from Miriam to Richard frowned slightly and said in a quiet voice, "You don't know what you're saying, Miriam."

"Yes, I do," Miriam cried frantically, "Janie mustn't stay! You heard Kelly tonight, Richard; he suspects her already!" Her voice broke with a suppressed sob.

Richard said firmly, "Darling, you're hysterical."

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are or you'd realize Mary Jane can't go away now; the police would be after her before she could get a few miles from here."

"There must be some way-"

Richard interrupted patiently, "Darling, don't you understand."

"You're wrong, Rich, I do understand." Miriam said quietly, "More than you know," she bit her lip, forcing a smile. She added, glancing over his shoulder at Mary Jane, "Well, I tried anyway, Janie," she said with a slight shrug of defeat, and turning went into her room head high, closing the door softly behind her.

For a moment after she had gone, Richard stood rigidly, his thoughts apparently far away. Then he said, not looking at her, "She's upset."

"Yes, isn't she," Mary Jane said softly.

Something in her tone made Richard turn and look at her curiously, "Yes," he said, "It's rather horrible to think of, isn't it, that a woman should be murdered not more than fifty yards from where you were sitting," he paused for a moment, then faced her squarely, "Miriam's right in one respect, I'm afraid; you're bound to the police's number one suspect, until they find someone else to pin it on anyway." He added thoughtfully, "It's going to be one hell of a mess when the papers get hold of it."

He paused again, evidently waiting for her to say something. When she did not, he took her arm and said, "Come along, I'll walk you down to your room."

They went silently along the wide still corridor, their footsteps deadened by the thick beige carpeting.

Richard took his cigarette case from a breast pocket and held it out to her. She shook her head, staring down at the case and yet not actually seeing it. Strange, she was thinking, that Miriam should be so upset; it was like her even in the face of death.

And then suddenly, she realized the truth; so suddenly that for a moment she was stunned, but instinctively she knew that she was right. There could be only one explanation to Miriam's strange behavior, only one; Miriam believed her to be a murderess!


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

Far off in the distance, a train whistle hooted mournfully as it passed through the dark night. Mary Jane continued to move down the hall, though actually she had no consciousness of any movement; it was as though her limbs had been suddenly frozen. She felt numb; it was as though her mind had suddenly been removed from her body and was hanging lost and forlorn on the brink of a dark abyss. And then another, curious thought passed through her throbbing brain; suppose Miriam had killed Amy Stanton! Suppose it was Miriam who had taken a gun in her small white hands and shot Amy Stanton to death!

Then what?

She didn't know; she couldn't think; her capacity for reasoning was utterly and completely dead. It was sheer willpower that carried her over the last few feet of carpeting to the door of her room.

A step ahead of her, Richard turned the knob, letting the door swing back on its hinges; the room inside was brightly lit by the small daintily carved old-fashioned crystal lamps on the dressing table, and a crackling fire that glowed merrily in the small white fireplace at the opposite end of the room throwing odd shadows against the cream walls. The flowered taffeta bedspread had been replaced by two fluffy woolen blankets-one cream, the other green-neatly folded back by an expert hand on the high canopied bed, and the flowered drapes had been drawn over the double windows. The two suitcases she had left open on the floor had been unpacked; her perfume bottles and toilet appointments and flat red leather jewel case glittered in the light on the dressing table.

Richard said, his dark eyes kind and sympathetic, "Get some rest, Mary Jane, and don't worry above all things; let tomorrow take care of itself."

He went at last back down the hall; Mary Jane stood just inside the door, her hand on the knob, listening until his footsteps died away.

She began undressing slowly; hanging the long green dinner dress carefully in the big cedar-lined closet, getting into warm blue pajamas, and throwing the white woolen dressing gown over her shoulders, she sat down at the chintz skirted dressing table, staring in the wide mirror at her pale face and wide frightened eyes with a kind of horror.

It was a dream, she told herself, it must be a dream, a horrible conjuncture of her mind; in a moment or two she would awaken from the hideous nightmare, to find herself back in Boston, in her own room, in her own home, where Dorothy would be waiting downstairs in the kitchen for her ring, and in a minute she would be at the door, her broad face beaming above the breakfast tray.

For a few moments Mary Jane sat quietly, her head buried in her hands. Afterwards she was never entirely certain what it was that made her glance up; there had been no sound, nothing, and yet almost at once she realized instinctively that someone was standing outside her door. She listened intently, her senses clear and sharp, and still there was nothing, nothing tangible, nothing definite, that she could lay her finger on and say, this is it; only the soft crackle of the dying fire across the room broke the silence, the fire and a dim thud, thud, that she realized with dull wonder was the beating of her own heart.

She had no idea of how long she sat there; it might have been seconds, minutes, hours, before the knock came, light and almost inaudible, and then the door opened and swung silently inward.

It was Miriam, looking faintly perplexed and not a little annoyed, but breathtakingly lovely in a pale blue negligee that complimented her warm, smooth skin and brown hair that fell loosely about her shoulders framing her exquisite little face. Mary Jane relaxed, suddenly, letting out a long sigh of relief.

"I saw your light," Miriam said absently, closing the door softly behind her, "so I thought I'd take a chance on finding you awake. Rich is downstairs getting a nightcap."

She crossed the room, and sat down before the fire in one of the twin chintz chairs, her movements soft and graceful as a cat's, as Mary Jane picked up her small ivory brush from the dressing table and ran it back and forth across her shining dark hair.

There was a long moment of silence before Miriam began, "I thought-" and then she hesitated for so long a minute that Mary Jane was beginning to wonder if she would finish what she had been about to say, when she went on, "I hoped you would be gone."

Mary Jane's brush stopped in mid-air, "And I hoped that we had settled all that, Miriam," she said calmly; she thought, "Careful, Mary Jane. She believes you murdered Amy Stanton, and again she was struck with that same feeling of nightmarish unreality about the whole thing.

Miriam shrugged carelessly, carefully avoiding the other's eyes, then faced Mary Jane squarely, her fingers gripping the arms of her chair; "Janie, I'm frightened; terribly, terribly; I don't remember ever being afraid like this before," her voice broke nervously, and for a long moment she said nothing more; watching her intently through the wide mirror over her dressing table, Mary Jane was amazed to not that Miriam's long slender hands lying loosely clasped in her lap, those same capable hands that directed the affairs of Park Louise with such smoothness, were shaking, and for the first time in her whole life, Mary Jane could think of nothing to say, to help relieve the tension that was as taunt as a drawn bow string in the warm, bright little room.

At last, irritated with herself, she laid the ivory brush down on her dressing table with an angry click and rose abruptly to pace back and forth across the pale green rug, her head down, hands on her hips, while Miriam watched her with dark haunted eyes.

She stopped once by one of the windows, and lifted back the flowered chintz drape to look out into the quiet night. It amazed her to realize that only that afternoon she had talked of the new life she would be starting in Kingston to that strangely disturbing dark haired young man on the Boston train. A new life! Why hadn't she realized then that it was useless to try to run from the past?

It was Miriam who finally broke the heavy silence by asking, "Do you have a cigarette, Janie? I need one."

"There's a pack and some matches in my purse," Mary Jane replied tonelessly, "Get them will you, Miriam?"

Miriam rose with a rustle of chiffon, and a moment later the room was filled with the faint smell of sulfur, just as quick footsteps were coming along with the hallway, stopping at Mary Jane's door, and a voice was calling out:

"Mary Jane, is Miriam in there?"

"Yes, I'm here, darling. Just a moment," Miriam crossed the room, the lighted cigarette in her hand, to open the door.

Richard said, "You should be resting, Miriam," and then, "I've just called Paul; I thought it was best. He'll be out here as soon as he can."

Miriam nodded and turned to Mary Jane who was coming across the room toward them. "Paul is our lawyer, Janie. Paul Carver. He'll be able to help us if anyone can."

They're afraid, Mary Jane thought suddenly, They're afraid I killed her, and I'll need a lawyer; that's what Miriam's trying to say….

She forced herself to listen to Richard who was continuing, a tight look around his mouth, "Kelly phoned while I was downstairs. He's coming back out tonight with the district attorney and the sheriff."

Once more fear awoke in Miriam's dark eyes, "Why?" she asked hoarsely.

"They've decided to search the house tonight. They're taking no chances that somebody gets here before they do."

"Search the house?" Miriam's lovely face was disbelieving, "Whatever for?"

"They're looking for a gun," Richard said grimly, "Somewhere in this house should be the gun that killed Amy Stanton."

The Gun!

In the terror, the excitement of the past hours Mary Jane had forgotten the gun, forgotten momentarily Richard's words, "I guessed at murder immediately. There was no gun and she was shot in the back." There was no gun!

Yes, she had forgotten, but the police with their exacting meticulous ways had remembered, and suddenly the whole situation had become infinitely more sinister, chilling her with an iciness that numbed her heart.

Miriam said, "Well, I suppose that means getting dressed all over again and going downstairs. I don't really mind, though; I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway."

Miriam was right, of course, Mary Jane thought later when she was alone. Of anything she preferred spending the night where there were people and bright lights, to a darkened room, alone with her thoughts, starting at every sound.

She was in back in her nay and white checked traveling suit and white blouse one more was running a come through her hair when the police arrived in two squad cars, coming into the house with a stamping of boots on the veranda, and a jumble of voices.

She opened her door cautiously and peered out; the upper hall was deserted. She started toward the stairs slowly, and by the merest accident she found it. She had bent down by the small beautifully carved little antique table to one side of Miriam's door to fasten the detachable buckle that had worked loose on one of her pumps and was about to straighten up again when a small lumpy shadow part ways under the table caught her attention and by some strange impulse her hand was guided to reach for and pick it up and hold it to the light.

It was small, fashioned in an odd arresting shape.

A jade earring.


	6. Chapter 6

**VI**

From downstairs a man's voice boomed out a bawling question that was answered by someone else's quieter tones. Mary Jane listened closely still clutching the jade earring in her hand. She glanced down at it, turning it over; the catch was broken, bent out of shape. It was Miriam's probably; it looked like something that might appeal to a Parker. She dropped it in her pocket intending to return it to its owner and went on down the curving stairs. The policeman who had been stationed in the reception hall before was still there, hunting through several papers that had been stuffed into the shallow drawer of a little gold table, mate to the one on the floor above. He looked up sheepishly almost guiltily as she came down and then turned back on his work. She descended the last few steps and stood with her hand on the mahogany newel post watching the searching process going on in the drawing room supervised by a tall soft spoken young man with a strong quiet face.

He turned after a moment and seeing her crossed the room into the hall. He extended his hand, smiling, "This is Miss Lansing, isn't it? I'm Sheriff Tim Harmon."

Mary Jane accepted his outstretched hand gratefully; he said, "Everyone else is in the library; we searched there first." He spoke of the search frankly treating it as the everyday occurrence it evidently was to him.

And then again she was engulfed in the tide of her own emotion overwhelmed by a sense of dread. "Did you-did you find anything yet?"

He shook his head, "Nary a thing. We'll let you know when-and if-we do."

When and if. The words echoed in Mary Jane's ears long after Tim Harmon had gone back to his work. He had sounded skeptical. What, then, if the gun wasn't found, now, in the house? It had to be, but what if it wasn't? She pushed the thought from her, finding and going into the library, a small, charming room, its cheerful, bold colors-greens and yellows and reds-reflecting Miriam's taste and personality.

Miriam herself was sitting on the small sofa of pals rose tapestry before the mahogany fireplace; she had changed into lounging pajamas, black satin topped with a long silver colored tunic. Richard and Arthur Kelly stood near her, the former looking worried, the chief looking calm, while a heavy set, ill-tempered looking man had planted himself solidly in the middle of the room, chewing on a long cigar, introduced to her as District Attorney Winstead.

Chief Kelly who had done the honors said quietly, "If you'll be seated, Miss Lansing, I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Of course," Mary Jane murmured; she suddenly felt very tired and her brain was throbbing, she sat down wearily beside Miriam waiting for him to begin, clasping her hands nervously in her lap.

Kelly moved over to stand before her, his back to the fire, and strangely his smile was vaguely comforting, calming her.

"Now, first of all tell me just what you know about Amy Stanton."

Mary Jane shrugged, staring past him into the fire, "Almost nothing, really. I didn't care to know once I found out the will was legal."

"And you never once heard your father mention Amy Stanton?"

Mary Jane shook her head, "Never."

"Was Amy Stanton at the reading of your father's will?"

"Yes."

"Alone?"

"No, she had her lawyer with her, John Carr. And she came in with another man, but he left almost at once. Barney, I think she called him. I'd never seen him before."

At her last words the District Attorney and Chief of Police bristled to attention exchanged a meaningful look.

Winstead said cautiously in his deep booming voice, "What did this Barney look like, Miss Lansing?"

Mary Jane puckered her forehead, "I didn't pay too much attention to him but I think-if I'm remembering correctly-he was tall and very heavy; he looked like a prizefighter or a wrestler more than anything else. He was dark skinned, and had bushy white hair by contrast, the kind that looks like it will never lie down."

"We'll check on it," Kelly said quietly, writing down something in his notebook.

Richard asked, "Chief Kelly, is there any possibility that the woman might have been killed somewhere else and her body brought here afterwards?"

"I don't think so, Mr. Parker," Kelly dug into his pocket, "I have the coroner's report here somewhere-----ah, here it is." He unfolded a crackling white paper and began to read, "Time of death, somewhere between midnight and twelve-thirty, approximately twelve-fifteen. The bullet was fired from a thirty-two caliber revolver; it entered the body through the back, plowed through the ribs and lodged in the heart. Death was instantaneous." He lowered the sheet and looked at Richard over the white edge. "You told me earlier that the fuse burned out at around midnight, and that it took you twenty to twenty-five minutes to fix it. The coroner established the time of death at twelve-fifteen. So you see, Mr. Parker, that would make it almost impossible to move the body in that short space. It also shows that the murderer was hard pressed for time or else he-or she-would have waited to catch the victim in a more inconspicuous spot before committing the crime."

He consulted the white sheet again, then said, "Another curious thing is the fact that there was no pocketbook found on the body, and no labels of any kind on the murdered woman's clothes; it would have been impossible to identify her before we sent her picture out around the country if Miss Lansing had not been here."

His glance rested on Mary Jane lightly, and then he folded the paper carefully and returned it to his pocket.

"Now about the gun. As I understood, years ago, Mr. Parker, your father owned a pretty extensive collection of guns. Do you still have it?"

Richard roused himself from his thoughts. "Why, yes,----yes, we still have the collection. It's in the study if you want to see it. But it's impossible to think that one of our guns killed Amy Stanton. I'm the only one who has the key to the cabinet where they're kept, and besides the collection has very few modern pieces. Most of the guns are muskets some dating back to the Revolutionary War."

"Nevertheless, I should like to examine them," said Kelly.

Richard shrugged, "As you wish, of course."

The three men left the room, going across the hall to the study. At the sound of the closing door, Miriam said, "I wish Paul were here. Rich is getting annoyed."

She rose uncurling her long legs from under her, tossing her cigarette into the fire. She looked tired, Mary Jane thought; the bright lights played unmercifully on the lines of fatigue etched under her eyes. Murder did not suit Miriam nor did it suit this lovely gracious old house that had known the dreams and successes and heartbreaks of Parkers for generations; it did not suit anyone or anything concerned and yet in a few hours it had affected their lives so strongly that they would never-could never-be the same again.

Mary Jane sighed, watching listlessly as Miriam poured a deep red wine from the tall decanter on the mahogany desk into two squat glasses-embossed with bunches of red cherries and a backdrop of green leaves-and brought them over to the sofa, handing one to her.

"Drink this, honey," she said with the ghost of a smile, "Guaranteed to have you under the table with one sip. Personally I could stand something stronger than wine, but I lack the energy to go hunt it up."

Mary Jane accepted the glass and leaned back against the rose cushions of the sofa; for a moment there in the firelight she could almost forget all that had happened and shrug it off as a bad nightmare, and then she would think of the policemen, the blood stains on the beige carpeting in the hall, the search of a missing gun, and it was no nightmare but something real and tangible that seemed to be there in the room with her.

She heard only dimly and without interest the slamming of the heavy front door, but Miriam who was lounging beside her tracing the outline of the cherries on her glass with the pointed red nail of a forefinger, looked up quickly.

There were light footsteps now in the hall coming toward them, and then a man she did not know stood framed in the doorway.

Miriam cried gladly, "Paul!" and going to him flung herself into his arms seeking his comfort and sympathy.

He kissed her lightly, and then said laughing a little, "Here, now, dry your pretty eyes. There'll be no tears from you, m'girl, and do put that glass down before you spill it all over me."

"Oh, Paul," she said happily, "I'm so glad you're here!"

"Well, thank you, m'lady, and I'll thank you even more to invite me to sit down. I grabbed my new shoes by mistake, and they're killing me. Oh, and by the way, I met the Sheriff outside. Damn nice fellow, too, but if I ever saw a guy trying hard not to cuss a blue streak it's him. It seems they wanted to keep things quiet until morning and of all the luck here some big shot New York reporter breezes into police headquarters a few minutes ago and browbeats the whole business out of some jerk of a desk sergeant. So now it looks like you're going to get some more company, namely the press, and when they get this story into print, holy Mother Machree, hell's going to be popping and I don't mean maybe."


	7. Chapter 7

**VII**

The clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour of three in clear resonate tones, striking also a vague note deep and packed away in Mary Jane's memory, and suddenly for a dizzy blinding second it was another clock that was striking in the library of another house of a late autumn day so warm that doors and windows had been opened to catch the slightest breath of air.

She felt faintly nauseated as she remembered the feel of the sticky heat penetrating suffocating perfume of cigarette smoke, and there were people milling about, reporters, cameramen, asking questions and questions, taking innumerable pictures everywhere she turned until she had longed to scream out her defiance at them. That was what the press meant to Mary Jane, and now she must live through it all over again.

Miriam said slowly, "Oh, Paul, it's been like a horrible dream that I can't seem to awaken from,"

"I know it's been tough, m'lady. Murder is never very pleasant." Paul Carver passed a hand over his hair and sighed.

"But what are we going to do?" Miriam cried, "They think one of us did it, Paul."

"I know. Rich explained everything over the phone. Where is he by the way?"

"In the study. Showing Park's gun collection to the District Attorney and Chief of Police."

Paul snickered, "Those boys are going at this thing hammer and tong, aren't they?"

He sat down in the deep comfortable looking white armchair sprigged over with cool red and yellow roses, and beamed at Mary Jane.

"Well, hello there. Miriam, dear, you're slipping. You should have had me introduced to the young lady hours ago."

Miriam laughed, passing an eye catching teakwood cigarette box over to him.

"You're the one that's slipping, darling. Ordinarily you would have introduced yourself hours ago. But anyway, Janie, this handsome rogue you see sitting before you is Paul Carver. Paul, Mary Jane Lansing."

"A pleasure, Miss Lansing," Paul said with a deep courtly bow, adding jovially with an upraised eyebrow, "And, Miriam, I love that line-this handsome rogue. Restores my self confidence."

Laughter was the farthest thing from Mary Jane at that moment, but she could not help smiling as she realized that Paul Carver was deliberately taking their minds off the murder, and for that she felt grateful.

She took stock of him now for the first time; he was only of medium height, but thin, the thinness of a man approaching forty-five who regularly patronizes the nearest gym. His hair was sandy colored and sparse, and a well clipped little moustache adorned his upper lip. He wore tweeds, well-matched and expensively tailored, and there was an air of gaiety and alertness about him for all that it was three in the morning, and Richard's call had roused him out of bed.

She made her observations as quickly and accurately as always, trying to return his grin with a touch of the pert smile that won for her so many friends.

She lit a cigarette, looking up as the study door opened and closed and Winstead's expansive voice boomed out at Kelly, "Good God, man, what kind of imbeciles do you have on the police force?" Without waiting for an answer he turned to Tim Harmon, "Have you gone over both the cellar and this floor?"

"With a fine tooth-comb," Tim replied lightly.

"And you found nothing?"

Harmon shook his head, "Nothing so far. We're going upstairs now."

Winstead frowned. "Well hurry it up and while you're at it you'd better get word to Clancy to hold any reporters that turn up at the gate at least until you're finished."

Harmon nodded and hurried off; the other men came back into the room.

Miriam rose and said, frowning, "Rich, what about Dickey?"

"Good Lord, that's right. I'd almost forgotten."

Miriam snuffed out the cigarette she had just lit into an ashtray, "He might wake up and be frightened. I think I should go to him."

Kelly nodded approvingly; Richard said, "Do you want me to go with you, darling?"

She shook her head, "There's no need for you to come, Rich. I'll be back in a little while."

She crossed the room with the graceful carriage that made her every movement music, and was gone.

The fire was burning lower, and Richard moving toward it to throw some logs, noticed Paul stretched out in the white chair, for the first time.

"Lord, but I'm glad you're here," he said enthusiastically as they shook hands, "It's been a devil of a night."

"So Miriam had been telling me. Poor kid, she's about done for."

Mary Jane, leaning over to shake the ashes from her cigarette into an ornate little ashtray made of the highly polished teakwood of which Miriam was so fond, smiled ironically; it was her own personally belief that Miriam with her highly developed trait of quickly recovering from the most staggering lows with a minimum of loss, would be the last of them to break down.

And, then, she retracted the thought hastily in her mind, fearful that it sounded catty and hypocritical after Miriam had been so kind to her. She was busily enumerating for her own benefit for the embarrassing circumstances the other woman's offer of a job had spared her from, so deep in her reverie, that Richard had to speak to twice before she answered him, faltering, "Oh, what did you say, Richard?"

"I asked you if you wanted another glass of wine," he replied his eyes gravely smiling at her.

She looked down at her empty glass half stupidly, "Oh, why—no, no, thank you."

"Sure now?" His hand gripping the rounded glass stopper of the decanted paused in mid-air.

"Yes I'm sure." She managed a smile, then suddenly half turning her head, she unexpectedly met Kelly's steady penetrating gaze that was fastened on her out of the corner of her eye.

It surprised her, and for a moment she could only look back at him. He was not staring, she thought curiously, only looking at her coolly and impersonally that she might have been a piece of furniture. And then with color mounting steadily in her cheeks she looked quickly away her glance falling on Richard who was sitting at the other end of the sofa leaning toward Paul outlining in detail a lengthy description of the evening's tragedy for him.

From upstairs in the room directly above them muffled voices and the shuffling of feet and furniture indicating the presence of the police. Time dragged, and conversation lapsed into an uncomfortable silence; the house was silent too, waiting---waiting for what?

Paul roused himself once to ask, "Those guns of Park's, Rich. They hadn't been disturbed?"

Richard shook his head, lighting a fresh cigarette and shifting his position on the sofa watching idly as the District Attorney rose and lumbered out of the room; for a moment they could hear on the mantelpiece the mahogany clock struck the quarter hour; fifteen to four. A few more minutes like this, Mary Jane thought, and I'll scream. She took a magazine from the table beside her, and was thumbing through it, when Miriam came silently down the stairs and the hall into the library.

She sat down between Mary Jane and Richard on the sofa and lit a cigarette, the leaning back smiled at them in her old enchanting way.

"Dickey-" Richard began.

"Is fine," Miriam interrupted laughing, "A little confused by everything but terribly intrigued by the policemen's badges. I put him back to bed as soon as the officers were finished with the nursery and now he's fast asleep again."

"The police, Have they found-it yet." It was Mary Jane's own voice even though she herself was unconscious of speaking.

Miriam hesitated, "Not that I know of," she finished a glance over her shoulder at Kelly looking quickly away as he raised his eyes. When he spoke it was to the back of her head.

"Mrs. Parker," he stopped and for a moment the only audible sound in the room was Miriam's quick irregular breathing, "You're originally from Boston, aren't you."

The smile that had hovered around Miriam's lips faded as quickly as though it had been painted on and then erased with a single brush stroke.

"Yes," she answered in a low husky voice, not looking at him, her fingers clenching the damp ball of handkerchief wadded in her hand.

Kelly leaned forward intently, his voice urgent. "During the time you lived there did you ever know or hear of an Amy Stanton or someone who answered her description?"

"Never."

"Well then, let me put it this way. Did you ever know a person who might have been acquainted with Amy Stanton? Did you ever hear the name even remotely mentioned? Think carefully now. It's very important."

Miriam replied after a short pause, "No I did not."

She sounded sullen now, and it was so completely unlike Miriam that Mary Jane stole a quick glance at her. Chief Kelly's sharp eyes intercepted that look and a frown creased his forehead. Miriam Parker was no fool, he told himself, and now he felt certain that she was hiding something. But what? Had she then known Amy Stanton or was she trying to protect someone? Mary Jane Lansing, for instance. He went back over his noted carefully, pausing every now and then to draw in on his cold pipe and try to think things out. Why had Amy Stanton come to Park Louise? How had she entered the house? Most likely through the front door. No one in Kingston to his knowledge ever bothered to lock their doors except before going to bed at night, and there were times when they didn't even trouble themselves to do that. Of course you couldn't tell about an old house filled with valuable antiques and paintings and no doubt a generous supply of jewelry.

He looked up, asked Richard a question, and nodded satisfied. The front door had not been locked all day. Was still, in fact, unlocked. That explained one thing to his satisfaction except to wonder why Amy Stanton had employed an almost devious method to gain admittance to the house. They probably would never know. And now, what about the gun? The murderer had little time in which to dispose of it inside of the house or out, unless he had stood at the door and flung it out into the night which was at all improbable for now Kelly was convinced that they were dealing with a crafty clever mind that left little to chance. It was the hastiness of the crime that bothered him and yet someone had been prepared for trouble; the presence of a gun bore that out. He wondered, puckering his forehead, the reason it had been so imperative to silence Amy Stanton's lips forever that the murderer had risked killing her fifty or sixty yards away from where five other people had been sitting when at any moment the lights might wink on. If they knew that, he thought grimly, they would have the secret behind the whole unusual case, for he felt sure that in this fact lay the key that could unlock everything which puzzled him now.

He wondered too, vaguely disturbed, if the weapon might not be somewhere near, maybe even a few feet from where he was sitting hidden so cleverly that the policemen had failed to find it. The gun cabinet in the study had told them nothing. The only thirty-two revolver in the collection was neatly cleaned and oiled and had not been fired recently.

He sighed and switched to a different angle: considering the people who had been in the house that evening. Richard Parker and Jeeves, the butler, were out of the question or again were they? Could Jeeves have been fixing the fuse all the while Richard had crept back upstairs to commit the murder and then return? Could he have promised to reward the butler handsomely in return for silence?

Kelly thought it improbable; he had known Richard Parker since the boy was born and his father and grandfather before that. They were a fine honorable family; even Harold Parker who had once been considered the black sheep of the family had settled down since his marriage and become a quiet substantial business man, sharing the responsibility of the management of a thriving factory with the brother. His wife, Ruth, was as gracious a young woman as Kelly had ever known, although a bit on the shy, reserved side until you got to know her a little better, devoted to her home and husband and her brother. Gene Richardson he knew nothing about except that he was a newspaper reporter and seemed like a pleasant and likeable young man; Miriam Parker was also somewhat of a mystery. She had moved to Kingston six years ago to live with her Aunt, Ellen Snyder, her mother's sister, after the death of her parents. Kelly, who had known Ellen and her late husband, Bert, well, had been mildly to say the least surprised along with everyone else in town who had never known Ellen to speak of a sister. To be sure the niece was pretty and friendly enough, but any reference to her past life was carefully avoided both by her and her aunt. And then a year later, young Richard Parker, who had been sought after by the most eligible girls in New York, had graduated from college and returned home to fall in love with what amounted to first sight with Miriam Astor. They had married soon after and moved into Park Louise. Ellen had died a few months later and with her Miriam's secret whatever that might be for there was one, Kelly was certain. Mary Jane Lansing was the first person he knew of that had ever visited her from Boston, and here he found himself pitted against the will of a wary but frightened young woman.

He felt sure, however, she was too clever to kill a person fifty or sixty yards away from four people when at any moment the lights might come on, unless it was absolutely imperative to silence Amy Stanton's lips forever. But the reason, the motive; perhaps the same that induced Gerald Lansing to sign his fortune over to her.

He felt sure he could never break the mystery of Miriam Parker through her. He knocked the ashes from his pipe, returning it to his coat pocket, and thumbed on down the list of names in his notebook. After the name Norma Turner he drew a wide circle around in colored pencil; he would put nothing past that hot tempered young hellion, he thought chuckling , he was certain she would have cheerfully put a knife through his back when he had dragged her from the library. She certainly had the opportunity to commit the murder but the motive? Otto, the gardener, who lived in the quarters over the garage, Eloise Thompson, the maid, who was supposedly asleep upstairs, Adelaide Cole-opportunity, but the motive? Perhaps that too lay in the past, Amy Stanton's past, they would know in a few days when the Boston police would have a chance to check up on her.

He snapped out of his reverie as Tim Harmon ushered a woman into the room. Mary Jane Lansing looked up curiously at the newcomer; she was not too young, somewhere in her late twenties, and she was only of middle height, dressed in a plain blue bathrobe, a snood around her dark brown hair. She was not pretty; her features were too sharp for her thin face, and her mouth dropped unbecomingly at the corners.

"Miss Thompson?" Kelly said rising.

"Yes"

"Won't you be seated?" He motioned to the small green chair by her side, "Take this down will you, Tim?" He added in an undertone to the Sheriff.

Harmon nodded; Eloise Thompson's eyes dropped demurely to her hands folded in her lap.

Kelly said, "I imagine you know what's happened here tonight Miss Thompson."

Eloise nodded, "Yes, the Sheriff just told me."

"Now, just for the records, please tell us what you did this evening."

"Of course," Eloise looked up at him, "I helped with the dishes after dinner, and then I went to bed."

"What time was that?"

"Eleven thirty. Somewhere around there anyway. There were a few things left to do in the kitchen, but Adelaide said she thought she could finish up by herself."

"Then what?"

"I got undressed, read awhile and then I fell asleep; I didn't hear a thing until Sheriff Harmon awakened me a few minutes ago."

"Isn't it a little strange you didn't hear the ambulance and the police cars? The sirens make a lot of noise."

Eloise shrugged, "Not so strange. My room is in the back of the house, and I sleep very soundly."

"All right, Miss Thompson, that will be all for the moment."

She rose, and crossed the room, disappearing down the hall.

Tim said, "I've sent for the gardener, he should be here any moment, he might be able to help us."

The clock struck four and the vibration died slowly away, Kelly said grimly, "I doubt it. Everything has been against us from the start of this thing. So far we know ten people were here on the premises. But with an open front door and no lights in the house anyone could have come in, Amy Stanton did."

Kelly said nothing else as he was listening intently and Mary Jane realized that the front door had been opened and closed again and heavy footsteps were coming nearer down the hall.

Then appearing in the doorway simultaneously came two men, one was a uniformed policeman, and the other a bulk of a man in a heavy windbreaker. But it was the policeman who held her attention; there was something vaguely familiar about his piercing hawk-like eyes and stout figure. And then she remembered; the policeman who had been at the station that afternoon standing by the stove. For a moment it struck her as being strange coincidence, and then her attention was turned to Kelly who was beginning to question Otto Foralburg, the gardener.

Actually Otto had little or nothing to tell them. He had gone to bed sometime after eleven; he had been awakened by the police cars and had learned the bare details of what had happened from the policeman who had been left at the gate unlocked; "Mr. Harold Parker latched it when he left. Yes, Miss Norma Turner had left her car in the garage……"

At last they dismissed him, and Kelly wound things up by saying they would question the other servants who did not stay at Park Louise for the night, in the morning.

They heard at the same time the footsteps descending the stairs. Winstead came into the room, his face dark as a thundercloud. He sat down heavily in a chair, and looked up at Kelly.

"We've finished," he said flatly, "There is no gun in this house."


	8. Chapter 8

**VIII**

There was silence, somehow ominous and oppressive. For a moment Mary Jane felt exaltation, then apprehension stole in filtering out any other emotion. What would the police do now? The question repeated itself over and over against her brain.

Kelly said at last, "Well, that's that. We can't do much with the grounds until morning. May I remind everyone they are not to leave the premises. Good-night.

He left with that, Harmon and Winstead following. Paul Carver stirred in his chair.

"You know something," he said, "I wouldn't relish being in the murder's shoes right now. Winstead is mostly a wind-bag. But Kelly and Harmon are nobody's fools."

No one said anything which proved, Mary Jane thought, that he was right. She realized now for the first time that despite his friendly charm he was in reality a shrewd, brilliant attorney with a gift for insight into other people's character.

Miriam said, "Now that we've been given something to sleep on what do you say we go to bed. Do you realize it's twenty to five? I'm not sure about Janie but I need my beauty sleep."

Richard laughed, "Suppose you girls run along then. They're a few things I'd like to talk over with Paul."

"All right, darling, but don't take too long. You look exhausted."

She kissed him lightly, and she grinned at Paul. "You see what you're missing, confirmed bachelor."

"I admit marriage has its compensations," he chuckled, "but you can't teach an old dog new tricks."

The two men soon after searched for some scotch in the dining room, while Miriam and Mary Jane drifted slowly up the stairs.

"What do you think of Paul?" Miriam asked when they were halfway up.

Mary Jane shrugged, "I really didn't pay much attention but he seemed quite attractive."

"He is," Miriam replied slowly, and it seemed to Mary Jane that she was choosing her words very carefully. "He would make any girl a wonderful husband," she continued, "Any girl at all."

Mary Jane said nothing; she was not quite certain what was expected of her. They had reached the hall now, and Miriam opened the door of her room. Mary Jane caught a glimpse of soft muted colors and a floor length mirror in the dim light burning from within. Miriam smiled and when she spoke her voice was full of soft enchantment, "Think over what I've said, Janie and now, good-night. She closed the door softly behind her, and Mary Jane was suddenly very much alone in the long, wide hallway.

She listened closely to the rustle of Miriam's satin pajamas as she crossed the room and then when there was silence, she crossed the hall to her own room. The lights were on as she had left it. She undressed, her fingers cold, lifeless and clumsy, but she was hardly conscious of her actions. She turned out the lights, laid her white dressing gown across the foot of the bed, and climbed in between the cool sheets shivering.

She heard Richard and Paul come up the stairs and after a moment their respective doors closing, and then there was silence, complete and terrifying. Her imagination conjured up horrible pictures, even shadows held unnamable terrors, and she was alone in a dark world of fear, held immovable.

She closed the door behind her sharply as if by motion or sound and started to move away when the absence of some small habitual action held her back. She was puzzled for a moment and then she knew with uneasiness there was no key in the bright brass lock.

She frowned slightly and looked around her. There should be one somewhere. She crossed the room to the vanity, hunted through the drawers, then moved on to the writing table, the bureau, and finally the little night table beside the bed, searching feverishly with and intense purpose as though her very existence depended on it. She gave up at last, panting, finally solving her problem by tipping one of the chintz chairs under the lock and pushing the other against the door.

She felt exhausted; she had expended the last of her strength. She undressed shivering. She felt frightened, as though a sinister net were tightening around her; threatening and purposely.

She managed at last to sit up and turn on the bedside lamp, and with the light, the shadows vanished and sanity returned. With a laugh of relief, she rubbed her face with her hands, shaking her head. When the trembling of her limbs had ceased, she lit a cigarette which comforted her further; it seemed as if she had found a friend in the round glowing tip.

She leaned back with the cigarette between her teeth, staring up at the ceiling. For the first time since they had discovered Amy Stanton's body she was able to think clearly. Her position was still a precarious one, she realized ominously. As far as she or anyone knew, she and she had known Amy Stanton; and only she had a motive for killing her. She was beginning to go in circles now. Did she or didn't she have a motive? Who else might have known about Amy Stanton? Miriam? Suddenly she felt she had to know what she was up against, and there was only one person who could tell her, Paul Carver.

She pulled herself up and sitting on the edge of the bed felt for her slippers, reached for the white dressing gown. She had sudden qualms about leaving the room. Anyone, she thought with a shiver, anyone at all could slip in while she was gone. She would have to remember to ask Miriam for a key in the morning. Later that morning anyway, she corrected herself with a glance at the small clock on the night table.

She slid off the bed and looked around. At last after a moment's deliberation, she resorted to her first method of fortification. A few minutes later she was ready to leave the room, she smiled back over her shoulder with amusement and satisfaction. She tipped a small chair under the knob of the bathroom and closet doors making it impossible for anyone to conceal themselves behind without disturbing the barricade. She smiled again feeling poised and sure of herself once more; she pushed aside the two chintz chairs, opened the door and peered cautiously into the hall. It was deserted.

She closed the door behind her softly; pausing for a moment to consider the fact that she did not know which room had been given to Paul. She thought back to the sound of the closing door. She had paid no attention then, but it now it seemed to her it had come from farther down the hall most likely on the opposite side. She crossed over to Dickey's nursery and using his room as a starting point, went down the line of doors, knocking softly on each. She was rewarded at last.

An alert voice, quick and eager, answered in a low tone, "Who is it?"

"It's Mary Jane Lansing, Mr. Carver. I'm sorry to disturb you but I must talk to you."

There was a pause before the voice replied, "All right. Just a moment. The door is locked."

She heard the bed springs creak slightly and heard him fumble in the dark for his slippers. He came across the floor, switched on the lights, and a key grated in the lock.

She had a sudden thought that she should have dressed before coming, all her staid New England temperament upmost. But there was no turning back now.

He opened the door, his lips curving into a friendly smile. He had a bright maroon dressing gown wrapped around him, and his sandy hair was ruffled. She bit back a sudden desire to laugh, breaking into speech.

"I'm sorry to disturb you but-"

"But you had to talk to me," He smiled again and stood aside, "Come in."

With only a second's hesitation she walked past him, hearing him close the door behind her. She looked around. The room was comparatively large, done with yellow walls and rich mahogany furniture.

"Fennimore Cooper once slept in here," Paul said, "He was a great friend of Elias Parker and a cousin of his wife's. Sit down," he motioned to a big leather covered chair, pulling over a smaller one for himself, "Now then," he searched through his pockets for cigarettes, "What did you want to see me about?"

She laughed self-consciously, "Now that I think about it, it seems a little silly. It could have waited until morning anyway. I shouldn't have bothered you." She started to rise but he pushed her gently back with his hand. He handed her a cigarette, and leaned down with a match to light it. "Nonsense," he said, "A pretty girl never bothers me. Come now, he smiled persuasively, "out with it."

Encouraged she plunged almost at once into her narration, "I was in my room trying to sleep and I got to thinking – about everything, and I got frightened. I imagined all kinds of silly things and then I began to wonder-"she took a deep breath.

"Go on," Paul urged.

"I wondered where I came in with the police and the murder. I had to find out, and I thought of you." She looked up at him with a simple appeal, "I didn't do it, Paul, I didn't kill her."

He smiled and laid his hand over hers. "I never thought you did, my dear."

She sighed reassured, and leaned back against the leather cushions.

"However," Paul rose smoothing his hair, "You are in a bit of a spot. I won't deny that since you're asking for the truth. So far all the police have to go on is circumstantial evidence. I've been doing some thinking myself, this past hour. I've come to a conclusion what we need most right now is a private detective." He paused, glancing at her to witness her reaction.

She said slowly, "If that's what you think best."

Paul resumed his restless walking. He paced thoughtfully up and down the carpet. "I'm only a lawyer, Mary Jane. I'm afraid I wouldn't be much good in digging up clues. If we had a man investigating the angles for us---who could keep one step ahead of the police."

"Who do you have in mind?"

"I've been thinking of a young fellow I met some time ago. Just out of the Navy Air Corps. Good man too went through the FBI training school. He started his agency a few months ago. I think he could help us, Mary Jane."

"Do-do you think the police have evidence to arrest me?"

"I think it's very unlikely. Tell you what. Suppose you go back to your room and try to get some sleep, and let me worry about this. What do you say?"

"I'd say that you have more to worry about than you're telling me."

"Lord girl," he grinned at her, "Don't take words out of my mouth that aren't even there."

"All right. I'll be good."

She rose and he opened the door for her. As she passed him, he put his arm around her shoulders, letting it rest there for a moment.

"Don't worry," he said softly.

The first faint rays of dawn were streaking the sky when she got back to her room. She shoved the chintz chairs back against the door, and climbed wearily into bed. She did not remember falling asleep but it must have been some time after she ground the stub of the cigarette Paul had given her into an ashtray, and turned off the lamp on the night table.

She stirred restlessly for a while and then she lay quiet. Morning came rolling across the countryside cold, gray and bleak, and down the hall a door opened cautiously and a figure crept out inching close along the wall. The house was silent, holding its breath, watching and waiting. Mary Jane slept on.

She did not awaken for a long time. It was late morning when her eyes flew open; she looked up at the canopy over her bed thinking with the grogginess of the first awakening from a deep sleep. "This isn't my bed." She pushed her tumbled hair out of her eyes and sat up now thoroughly awake. For a moment she was puzzled before she remembered. She lay back again swallowing a sobbing sigh. It's true, then she thought, it hasn't been just a bad dream.

She sat up again after a while and looked at the clock. To her surprise it was after ten o'clock. In a rush she was out of bed. She searched hastily for her slippers and robe and began dressing with feverish haste; she looked in the trunk still lying on the floor and began piecing together a wardrobe, a black wool jersey skirt, a matching black blouse with a high neck and long tight sleeves. Further search yielded a wide gold mesh belt and black heelless sandals, fastening her hair with a long gold barrette at the nape of her neck; once she was finished, she walked down the hall toward the stairs.

She paused as she passed Miriam's bedroom. The door had been left half open and could see Miriam standing at a small table in front of a window holding the receiver of the telephone in her hand. Standing there with the light that was framing in through the window falling on her she was the most beautiful thing Mary Jane had ever seen. She wore a negligee of a delicate dusty pink; the cleverly styled yoke and wide cuffs of the full sleeves were cream colored, the skirt was very full tapering off into the suggestion of a train and a wide sash of cream bound the slender waist; her soft brown hair was down brushing her shoulders when she moved her head.

As Mary Jane watched, she replaced the receiver into the cradle of the phone and looked up, staring a little.

"Janie! I-I didn't you see you standing there. Come in, darling."

Mary Jane pushed open the door and stepped into a fairyland of satin and lace, brocaded chairs and deep soft carpets with shades of tan, ivory and blue blending harmoniously with the gold of small antique tables scattered about.

Miriam said, "Ruth just phoned. She called off the party."

"Party? Oh, yes of course the party."

It had been last night, only fifteen hours ago since Ruth had said, "And of course you're invited Mary Jane." After the murder took place however, it might as well have been a century ago. Miriam moved away from the window with its frothy white and blue drapes. "Have you seen the morning paper yet? No, of course, you couldn't have."

She picked up a bulk of folded newsprint from the shining depths of a light gray slipper chair and handed it to Mary Jane.

"We've made the headlines. See for yourself."

Silently, Mary Jane opened the paper, and there under her eyes bold black print proclaimed screaming at her:

**"WOMAN SLAYED BY UNIDENTIFIED KILLER"**

And in smaller letters above the accompanying, lengthy article:

Woman Murdered at Park Louise Last Night

Police to Give Statement This Morning

Mary Jane read no more; she sank down in a chair feeling sick to her stomach.

"That's only the Kingston Morning Times," Miriam informed her dryly, "By afternoon all the gory details will be spread from Maine to California. It's not very pleasant to think about is it?"

"No," Mary Jane put the paper carefully aside, "No, it isn't." Her throat was tightening until it hurt to speak.

Miriam walked back to the window, the long full skirt of the negligee trailing noiselessly behind her along the carpet. She put up a hand, long slim fingers pushing aside the white curtain; the exquisite diamond engagement ring on her third finger caught a beam of light and sparkled brilliantly.

"We talked over things this morning, Rich and I, after we saw the paper. All this would be back for Dickey. He's still a little boy, too small to understand what's happened and too big not to be told something. Rich decided it would be best to send him away for a few weeks, until everything's cleared up. He called his sister this morning; she's wanted us to send Dickey to visit her for a long time. The police had no objection so Otto took him into New York this morning. I'm going to miss him terribly, but it's for the best, I suppose."

Mary Jane said nothing; she was not sure if anything was expected of her. Miriam began walking restlessly; at the opposite end of the room she stopped beside the French windows that were flanked by heavy blue drapes.

"Look," she said in a low toned voice.

Mary Jane rose and crossed the room swiftly. As she came closer she noted that the French windows gave way to a small balcony from which a winding grilled-iron stairway plunged spirally earthward, half hidden by the snow laden foliage surrounding it.

She saw at once what Miriam had called her attention to. The window faced the side of the house but by looking sideways it was impossible to see a portion of the drive. Here a dozen or so men were clustered while others had fanned out until some were directly below.

"The gentlemen of the press," Miriam said sarcastically, "How they must be enjoying this." She was silent for a moment, and then she turned to Mary Jane with a smile, "Let's talk about something else shall we? What do you think of this house, Janie?"

"It's wonderful, Miriam, and this room is gorgeous."

Miriam's hand caressed the window casing lovingly. Can you imagine what it meant to me to come here after—after Boston?" Her voice tightened; she controlled her voice with an effort and went on, "Harold and Ruth were living here then, but as soon as Rich and I were married they moved into a smaller house down the road. Ruth never liked living here. She's only interested in keeping to herself. After that, I was mistress of this house. I wasn't Miriam Astor anymore; I was a Parker. I was determined to preserve my happiness at all costs. That's why I was so terribly frightened last night when Chief Kelly started asking me questions about Boston. You see, Rich doesn't know about me; he has no idea that I came from 'the wrong side of the tracks,' and Janie you must never tell, promise me Janie. He's never going to find out, never if it's in my power to prevent it. I'd do anything."

She spoke with a deadly resolve. Mary Jane stared at her disbelievingly. "You mean that all this time you've been living a lie just because Mrs. Richard Parker is trying to forget that Miriam Astor ever existed!" Miriam swung around to face her, her figure outlined sharply in the rose negligee.

"Janie!"

Mary Jane looked up swiftly stretching out her hand contritely, "I'm sorry Miriam. I had no right to have said that. No right to criticize what you've done. Please forgive me."

"Of course I do," Miriam smiled, "There's really nothing to forgive. You're right.

But I can't let rich find out. It would kill me."

"I think," said Mary Jane rising, "I'd better go before I say something else I'm sorry for."

"All right, honey. I'm going downstairs as soon as I dress," Miriam caught Mary Jane's arm as she passed, her voice pleading, "You won't tell will you, Janie?"

"Of course not, if you don't want me to."

With that Mary Jane escaped into the hall. She felt angry with herself; it's Miriam's life she thought, she had a right to do as she pleases. She started down the stairs looking around absently. The lower hall appeared to be deserted as she crossed to the library when a voice spoke to her from the dining room doorway. She started and spun around.

Gene Richardson came up to her smiling, "I just came. I've been waiting for you," he laid his hand on her arm, coming closer and lowering his voice, "I want to talk to you. We can go-"

"Well, well, a clear, high voice, mocking and bitterly interrupted him, "What a cozy little scene." And as they jerked around, "Don't look so guilty. One might think you were conspiring on something such as murder perhaps."


	9. Chapter 9

**IX**

With that Mary Jane escaped into the hall flushed and humiliated. When will you learn to mind your own business, she reprimanded herself sternly. She was almost to the stairs before you remembered who had forgotten to ask Miriam about a key to her bedroom. After a moments' hesitation she retraced her steps back along the hall, stopping before Miriam's room. In her hasty exit from the room she had left the door open ajar and now it swung open until a good part of the room was exposed. Miriam was bending down beside a tall bureau, its bottom drawer pulled out, arranging a pile of silk and lace inside. Intent on her work she did not hear Mary Jane until she came up beside her. Miriam looked up, something strangely like fear stirring in her dark eyes.

"Did you want something, Janie?"

Quickly, Mary Jane outlined the mission that brought her back, feeling vaguely disturbed and wishing now that she had not returned.

When she finished Miriam smiled reassuringly. I'll have Jeeves bring you a key as soon as possible. She glanced at the pile of lingerie in her lap looking flushed, "I was just straightening some things."

"I see," Mary Jane replied mechanically. She picked up a flowered lingerie bag lying on a low table a few feet away. She held it out. Did you want this?"

Miriam paled. Suddenly she was on her feet. "Give me that!" she cued hoarsely. She tore the bag out of Mary Jane's unresisting hand, but in haste one side accidently dropped open and the contents tumbled out. A filmy peach negligee dropped soundlessly to the floor, something black and ugly lying among its folds. There could be no mistaking. It was a gun.

Mary Jane stepped backwards blindly. She reached out clinging to the table, trying to speak but no sound would come from her suddenly parched throat; at last she managed a breathless, "Miriam!"

Miriam did not answer. She had bent down again scooping the negligee and gun up in her hand and stuffed them back into the bag. With her face gone ashen she dropped it into the bureau losing the drawer with a violent bang.

She did not speak until she had straightened up and seen Mary Jane's terror stricken face.

"Janie, surely you don't think—but I didn't, I didn't kill her. You must believe me. I found the gun!"

Mary Jane stared at her. "Found it. How could you have found it when the police couldn't?"

Miriam sat down abruptly in the gray slipper chair; she pushed her soft brown hair away from her face with impatient fingers, the full skirt of her negligee billowing out around her.

"It's a long story Janie. This house is old and full of secret panels and hidden tunnels. I wrote you about that in my last letter, remember? The place where I found the gun is a little compartment near my door. I got to thinking about it last night. It's the only place of its kind where something like a gun could be hidden. I got up to look for it as soon as it was light this morning." Miriam drew a deep breath; "The gun is equipped with a silencer Janie." We weren't meant to hear those shots, storm or no storm."

"Who knows about this compartment?" Mary Jane asked harshly.

"No one except the family, Jeeves—and now you."

"Show this place to me."

"Of course." Miriam rose drawing the cream colored sash closer to her waist. They crossed the room; Miriam opened the door. "You don't believe me, do you, Janie?" She said slowly.

"I don't know what to believe anymore," Mary Jane confessed wearily, "I-"

"Hello, you two," said a cheerful voice.

The two women looked up. Paul was coming down the hall toward them, immaculate and smiling.

"Ladies," he told them, "I am about to become a brave man and face that bevy of wolves outside. After breakfast, of course," he added with a twinkle, "I could never live through it on an empty stomach. Then after that I shall have a conference with the Parker brothers."

Miriam raised her carefully arched eyebrows, "Is it a confidential matter or can anyone be in on it?"

Paul grinned, "Since you asked me so prettily how can I resist telling you. The truth of the matter is that I'm holding out for a private detective."

"A private detective? For us?"

Paul nodded, "That's the general idea. Well, I must be running along. See you later."

After he had disappeared down the hall, Miriam murmured to herself, "I wonder if Rich will think about it," Then as if reminding herself of a task not yet finished, she turned and moved Mary Jane to stand before the small antique table by one side of her door. Reaching up, she touched the paneled wall with an exploring forefinger.

Mary Jane blinked. Before her eyes a section of the wall had swung outward revealing a small nitch behind it. She walked over and put her hand inside of the compartment. It was empty.

"Why did you take the gun away?" Mary Jane asked.

"Don't you see?" Miriam demanded in a low tone, "The murderer is going to want the gun back. There are five bullets left in the magazine. He might even be planning to use it again."

"Don't ….say it, Miriam, don't even think it."

Miriam was silent for a moment; then she said abruptly, "I'm going to dress."

She closed the door quickly, holding up the full skirt of her negligee and vanished into her bedroom.

Mary Jane stared after her and then at the smooth panel finally wandered back down the hall to the stairs. She started down them peering absently over the balustrade.

Gene found Mary Jane again and looked up quickly; Mary Jane caught her breath and turned deliberately slow. Norma Turner continued to lounge against the archway leading from the drawing room, an unlighted cigarette in her hand; she was wearing a red plaid dress, a wide brown belt encasing her waist. As they watched, she sauntered toward them a smile curving her lips, but it was not a pretty smile.

"I didn't know you'd taken up eavesdropping, Norma," Gene said, his voice tense.

"Don't worry, Gene, I won't make a scene."

"Too bad," Gene murmured, "When you do so beautifully."

They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment. Watching, Mary Jane had a queer feeling in the pit of her stomach. What is it exactly she could not determine; she only had a blind desire to escape. She started to move away when Gene's voice stopped her.

"Mary Jane! Wait. I-"

He broke off as the front door opened and Tim Harmon came in letting in a blast of cold air and Chief of Police Kelly. Mary Jane felt the old paralyzing fear come rushing back, with all its dreadful intensity. She curled her hands into two tight fists, her breathing jerky and irregular.

"Good morning," Kelly said gravely.

His cool words were like plunging into an icy pond.

Kelly's eyes were sweeping over them. "Miss Lansing, would you mind stepping into the library for a few minutes?"

Her heart leaped into her throat, beating furiously. "No of course not," she said quietly surprised at the calmness of her voice.

She led the way into a cheerful little room, each step she took more difficult than the other. She sat down abruptly on the rose sofa when her legs suddenly had refused to support her. Kelly drew up a chair opposite her and smiled, offering her a cigarette.

He said casually, "We've found out quite a few things since last night, Miss Lansing."

"Oh," said Mary Jane, "Really?"

"Amy Stanton had come into town on the morning train from New York. A railroad hand remembers seeing her. In his words she looked lost as if she didn't know where to go. In fact she asked for a hotel. He sent her to the Stephens where she checked in at about eleven. She signed the register as Mrs. Alice Newcombe and she carried a purse and a small suitcase. She ate lunch in the coffee shop about two and then she left the hotel. From there we've been unable to check her movements. The desk clerk says she returned about five. She ate supper in the dining room with a man at seven; he sat in the lobby for a while and then had gone upstairs to his room. She had gone out at eight and never returned.

Mary Jane shivered; her hand shook as she raised her cigarette to her lips. "This is all very interesting, but what has it got to do with me?"

Kelly stopped in front of her, "Amy Stanton registered under a false name as far as we know; we found proof of her known identity in the newspaper files and such. We have not as yet been able to trace her background. The man with whom she had supper with had checked into the hotel a few hours after she did, called himself Ronald Carson, but we know him by another name. Does that suggest something to you?"

Mary Jane looked puzzled. "It might be they didn't want someone to know they were in town."

Kelly walked across the room, left her and went to the door. "Tim," he called, "Bring him in."

In a moment two other men had appeared in the doorway, Tim Harmon and a short individual with a sharp, narrow face almost rat-like in appearance. Mary Jane eyed him with distaste.

"Do you recognize this man, Miss Lansing?" Kelly asked his shrewd eyes on her face.

Mary Jane frowned, "He looks familiar but-" She stared at the man before her. Where had she seen him before? Deep inside of her memory stirred, a man and a woman standing together in a doorway—

"I know," she cried suddenly, "He's John Carr, Amy Stanton's lawyer."

"Ronald Carson," said Tim, "Alias John Carr."

"And he has no idea why Amy Stanton sent for him," Kelly added contemptuously.

"It's the truth, I tell you," Carr spoke in a high voice, "She never told me anything. Even about herself."

"Why did you register under a false name," Kelly shot at him.

"I told you before," Carr whined, "She called me up the day before yesterday from New York and told me to meet her here. I was to go to the best hotel and register under Ronald Carson.

"Where was she staying in New York?"

"I don't know. I hadn't seen her for a month. She had told me she'd get in touch with me later."

"How did she act when you saw her yesterday?"

Carr's eyes glinted, "She was in a good mood, almost like she used to be. She said if things went right, we'd be out of here by this morning. And that was all."

"What did she say when she left the hotel last night?"

"She told me she had an errand to do and not to wait up for her; she might be back late."

"Then what did you do?"

"I went upstairs, read for a while and went to bed."

"All right, Carr, that's all for now. You're not under arrest, but you'd better stick around."

Carr sneered, "You're damn right I'm not under arrest. You haven't got a thing on me. But don't worry, Flatfoot, I'll be around, just in case you need me."

With that he left, his walk unmistakable and infuriating swagger. Tim following him to the door, where a policeman took over. Harmon came back searching for his cigarettes. "If what he says is true, Stanton had him under her thumb all right."

Kelly nodded, "Yeah, but I can't believe he's the sucker he makes out to be."

"Surely Amy Stanton wouldn't bring her lawyer all the way down here just to sit in the hotel and wait for her." A voice said wonderingly.

As the two men turned to her, Mary Jane realized, horrified, that it was she who had unconsciously spoken a though aloud. But before Kelly could answer, a sketchy knock sounded briefly on the door, and a policeman burst into the room.

"What is it, Dougherty?" Kelly asked sharply.

"Somebody to see you outside, Chief. A kid and her old man. Name of Harvey. The girl says she talked to a woman answering Amy Stanton's description around four o'clock yesterday afternoon."


	10. Chapter 10

**X**

They called them in; a tall teen-aged girl and a short, chubby middle-aged man. Phyllis Harvey and her father. Paul came too, cool and poised, quietly stating that if Mary Jane were to be questioned he should be present also as her lawyer. Kelly made no comment, and Paul sat down beside Mary Jane on the plump rose sofa. His very presence gave her confidence and she flung up her head defiantly.

But Kelly was not watching her. He had invited the two Harveys to sit down in the chairs by the fireplace, his face intent.

The elder Harvey cleared his throat and managed to look stern. "Mind, I don't like to be butting my nose into other people's business," he said with dignity, "But after seeing the morning paper and the youngster here telling me this story, I thought maybe it would be some help to you."

Kelly eagerly turned to Phyllis. "Suppose you tell me your story Phyllis. Start at the beginning and take all the time you want."

Phyllis settled back with a little wiggle of delight, obviously enjoying the attention she was receiving. "Well, it was around four o'clock and I was just coming out of Higgins Drug Store when I bumped into this woman. I was looking through a magazine I bought and I didn't see her. She dropped whatever it was she had in her hand and I picked it up for her. It was a briefcase, a small one and sort of cheap looking. I handed it to her and she thanked me. She was pretty nice about it; me bumping into her like that, and then she asked me where South Auburn Drive was. After I told her, she went into the drug store and that was the last I saw of her."

"How was she dressed?" Kelly asked.

"She had on a fur coat and a black hat and she had blonde hair too."

"From which direction was she coming from?"

"Why," Phyllis' eyes widened, "Come to think of it, she was coming down Main Street from the direction of Auburn Drive. I remember now, I had to send her back the way she had come."

"Kelly was silent for a moment, then he said, "Thank you Phyllis, we'll call you if we need you again."

Harvey cleared his throat. "Say if you don't mind telling me who was that fella leaving as we came in? I've seen him before. Don't mean to pry, I was just curious."

Kelly was instantly alert, "Where did you see him?"

"In the railroad station. He had a hat pulled down over his eyes but it was the same fella alright."

"Did he buy a ticket?"

"Sure. Two to El Paso, Texas. That's how I happened to pay order to him. I don't get many calls for them tickets," his eyes roved around the room and lit on Mary Jane pointing a short forefinger, "She can tell you; she was there too."

"What!" Kelly's word shot out like the crack of a whip.

Mary Jane turned her frightened eyes to Paul, who had not moved.

"Sure," Harvey continued. "She came in and asked to use the telephone just before he came in. He was buying the tickets when she went past me on the way out."

"What time was this?"

"Just after the 5:40 from Boston got in."

Kelly turned to Mary Jane, "Is this true Miss Lansing?"

"I used the telephone," she faltered, "I don't know about the other; I-I don't remember."

She felt Paul's eyes on her but she avoided his gaze, she shut her eyes tightly trying to think and when she looked up again the Harveys had gone. And then surprisingly enough, Kelly dismissed her, closing himself into the library with Tim.

Paul took her arm and drew her firmly across the deserted hall past the great curving staircase into the dining room.

"What happened?" he asked without preamble.

"They brought in her lawyer, John Carr. They were registered at the hotel under false names."

"Does he know anything?"

"He says he doesn't."

Paul's jaw tightened. "I think perhaps Mr. Carr and I should have a little talk. Is he still at the hotel?"

"I guess so, Paul; she was gone from the hotel yesterday afternoon for three hours. I'm sure Kelly thinks she saw someone."

Paul did not answer for light footsteps coming down the stairs drew their attention to the hall.

"Welcome," said Paul.

"Has something happened?" Miriam asked in a low husky voice from one person to the other. Miriam in a wool dress of cinnamon brown with pearls at her throat and neck, a touch of gold at the wrists; her hair was drawn back into a bun at the nape of her neck. She looked stylish, gracious and beautiful, the perfect mistress of the manor and yet a horrible thought was persistent in her mind.

Paul said cryptically, "Nothing's happened yet, but don't be too surprised at anything?"

"Paul what do you mean?" Miriam's hand flew to her throat.

"A few things are breaking. Mary Jane can tell you about it. I've got to go." He picked up his coat and hat where he had thrown them across a chair then paused. "Miriam, what section of town is around the southern part of Main Street near Auburn Drive?"

"Just a few stores, the police station and farther east, the industrial section, while South Auburn Drive starts the residential section."

Paul jammed on his hat. "All I wanted to know. Bye, girls, be good. I might not be back for lunch, Miriam. Don't wait for me." He slammed the door violently behind him.

Gnawing in the back of Mary Jane's mind, she might be a murderess. There in the delicate perfumed folds of a peach negligee was still the gun, menacing, frighteningly wrapped upstairs.

"Something has happened," Miriam's breath came fast and hard, "Tell me, Janie."

Mary Jane shook off a sudden depression, a feeling of foreboding, of fear, and shook her head, "No, it's nothing." She went to the door and watched Paul back his car down the drive. When he was out of sight, she turned. "Miriam, what are we going to do about the gun?" She asked very low.

Miriam took a quick nervous look around, "Please, Janie, not here."

Mary Jane caught her wrist, "I've got to know. What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing of course. What can I do?"

"I want you to give it to the police."

"The police? Have you gone out of your mind?"

"Will you tell them or must I?"

Miriam wrenched her hand away, her breast heaving. "Do you realize that gun can put someone in the electric chair? Someone I care about? Don't you think I haven't been fighting with myself all morning?" She broke off and added quietly, "I won't let you do it; I'll deny every word of it. I'll destroy the gun if I have to. It will be your word against mine. You won't be able to prove anything. Who do you think the police will believe?" Her face was firm and set, "Listen Janie, the police won't search the house again. The gun is perfectly safe in my room. And that's where it's going to stay."

Mary Jane took a deep breath; she hated herself for what she was going to say. "Take the gun to the police," she said slowly and quietly, "Or I'll tell Richard about you."

For a moment her words, even though quietly spoken seemed to hang on the air, echoing and re-echoing through the vast hall, but it was the only thing she could do to gain her end. Miriam turned pale, her face drained of any color.

"You wouldn't; you promised."

"A promise. Two flimsy little words, Mary Jane shrugged, I'll break my promise if I have to."

Miriam said woodenly, her face and voice devoid of any expression, "Give me a little time. To think. I'll give you my answer tonight."

Suddenly a thought struck Mary Jane as she realized with horror what she had done. Suppose she had threatened to expose her? Suppose Amy Stanton had found out about Miriam's background. Suppose Miriam in a frenzy of despair had shot her. And now she, Mary Jane, was threatening to do the one thing Miriam lived in deadly fear of. Would her life stand in Miriam's way anymore than Amy Stanton's had? It was not likely. She thought of the gun, the five remaining bullets and shuddered. Had she unwittingly signed her own death warrant?

The heavy front door opened suddenly, startling her. Miriam had not moved. It was Harold, suave and debonair as ever.

"Hello," he said, "I'm looking for my wife. Is she here?"

"NO," said Miriam, "I haven't seen her anyway. Have you, Janie?"

Mary Jane answered mechanically, "No, Gene was here, though."

"I guess she must be marketing. How's everything?"

"Harold, have you seen Paul?" Miriam asked.

"Paul?" Harold raised his eyebrows. "No, was I supposed to?"

"He was going to the plant to see you and Rich."

"I left a few minutes ago," Harold explained, "I must have missed him, Rich is still there though."

Across the hall a door slammed and Kelly and Tim emerged from the library.

Harold's eyebrows rose again slightly, "Good morning, Kelly, Sherriff."

"Good morning, Mr. Parker," said Tim; Kelly only nodded, curtly. The two men passed the waiting group and went on out of the house.

"Well," said Harold sarcastically, "Being custodians of the law doesn't improve their manners any."

"I'm glad they're gone," Miriam said, "They make me nervous in the house. They're always coming out of doors and halls when you least expect them."

"Have you heard anything more—about the murder?"

"No," said Miriam shortly, glancing sideways at Mary Jane; then her long eyelashes brushed her cheek for a second, "Nothing at all."

"Don't forget we expect you and your family for lunch," said Miriam, once again the perfect and gracious hostess. An act she could drop or pick up like an all enveloping cloak.

"Well, I'll be going, then," said Harold.

Miriam followed him to the door; while Mary Jane went back into the dining room and sat down wearily in one of the mahogany chairs. Things were happening too fast; she felt stifled as though caught in an ever tightening net. And it was not a pleasant experience.

She got up and went over to the wide bay window. Earlier in the morning when she had viewed this part of the lawn from Miriam's bedroom it had been teeming with reporters, now it was deserted and its vast emptiness only added to her sense of desolation.

After the front door had closed behind Harold, she heard Miriam go across the hall into the library. In a moment Mary Jane followed her, but she stopped in the doorway of the small cheerful room. Miriam was sitting before the fireplace, her lovely head tipped to one side. The leaping fire cast shadows over her, dancing on her pearls and striking a golden tone from the bracelet on her arm. But Mary Jane backed away. Somehow the woman sitting there had become a stranger.

She turned and went farther down the hall to where the narrow back stairs plunged spirally earthward. From the modern white kitchen to the right came sounds of activity and voices. On the left beyond the stairs were more rooms still intact with the furniture from almost two hundred years before. She passed the double back parlors furnished in yellow brocade and elegant, lovely old furniture and walked into the first room to run an exploring finger around the curiously wrought old Dutch tiles that composed the mantle of the fireplace. Then she went to the door leading to the twin parlor and stopped paralyzed.

Gene was there, and Norma, her arms clinging around his neck, crying passionately, "Oh, darling, don't try to fight it. It's too strong for both of us. I love you so, and you love-"

Mary Jane made a slight inarticulate sound but Gene looked up, his face stricken, trying desperately to disengage Norma's clinging arms.

"Mary Jane, wait. You don't understand-"

She backed away and panic stricken, turned and fled the way she had come. She heard him start after her but she dodged into the kitchen and closed the door behind her. Adelaide looked up in surprise from where she was frosting a huge marble cake. At a small table not far away a young red headed girl was shelling peas.

Mary Jane faltered. "I –uh—I'd like a glass of water."

"Of course have you had your breakfast yet, Miss Lansing?" Adelaide demanded respectively.

"No." Mary Jane admitted.

"Well, you go right into the breakfast nook and Debbie will bring it to you."

A little dazed, Mary Jane followed Adelaide's brisk instructions. The breakfast nook was cozy and cheerfully decorated in deep blue and canary yellow.

Debbie, the red-haired girl, brought in a tray and in a few minutes set orange juice, a poached egg on toast, coffee and a squat glass pitcher of ice water before her.

"Golly, Miss Lansing," she said, her brown eyes wide and curious, "Were you here last night?" and at Mary Jane's nod, "Golly, just think, a murder right here in this house. I wish I had been here."

After Debbie had gone, Mary Jane stirred her coffee absently. She was not hungry but she supposed she should eat something. She finished the orange juice and after toying with her egg for some moments finally left half of it on the plate. She drank some water, and then skirting around the kitchen came back into the lower hall where at the base of the back stairs, Eloise Thompson was bringing a vacuum cleaner out of the servant's supply closet.

She went on and looked in at the library. Miriam was still there and Ruth bundled up in a heavy black wool coat.

Mary Jane would have gone on if Ruth had not hailed her. "Hello there."

"Come in, Janie," said Miriam. She laid the linen napkin she held in her hand on her breakfast tray and repeated, "Come in."

Ruth took off her coat and laid it across a chair as Mary Jane sat down on the deep comfortable rose sofa and crossed her legs. Ruth was wearing a green wool slack suit; her cheeks were a bright red and her simple hair-do in disarray from battling the wind.

"I walked over," she said, smoothing her hair, "I guess I like it, too."

"Harold was looking for you," Miriam said, reaching for a cigarette.

"I know. He waited at the house for me." Ruth gave a little laugh, "You know what, we were being followed or at least I was."

"Followed!" Miriam said sharply her face hardening.

"Uh-huh," said Ruth, twisting a blonde curl around her finger, "A police followed me from the house and left me here at the gate though.

"How dare they!" Miriam stormed her eyes narrowed, "We can't even turn around anymore without a policeman popping up!"

"Well, after all, Miriam," Ruth said mildly, "You can't blame them in a way," she stood up, "I'd better go besides this is a murder case."

Miriam forced a smile her voice husky and compelling, "Must you? You just came."

"I've got to change," Ruth said putting on her coat, "Harold said we were invited for lunch."

"I'll be expecting you around one."

"If you don't mind, Ruth, I'd like to walk along with you for a ways, said Mary Jane, "I-I need some air. Let the cobwebs blow out of my hair." Somehow she felt she must get away from the house, from the sudden ugly expression on Miriam's face.

Ruth said warmly, "I'd love to have you. Why don't you come too, Miriam?"

"No thanks, I've got to see Adelaide about luncheon. And there are some letters I must write."

"All right, then, see you later."

Ruth and Mary Jane went out into the hall, where Mary Jane took her mink coat from the spacious hall closet. It was hard to believe, Mary Jane thought that it was only yesterday when Jeeves had hung the coat there.

She put it on smothering a sigh and followed Ruth outdoors. The shrill wind sweeping down the veranda caught her hair and sent it flying across her face. She pushed it back, pressing against the gale forward. It was pleasant just to battle against the wind and not have to think. A pale winter sun shone down on them as they started down the drive which had been shoveled clear of the snow now piled along each side.

Ruth chattered pleasantly as they swung along. "You know it's weather like this when Harold says he wished we lived in California. He stopped there years ago when he was eighteen. He was coming home from an around the world trip his father sent him on The Grand Tour, you know. The west made quite an impression on him."

They rounded a curve in the drive and came up to the high Iron Gate. The two policemen standing there looked up alertly.

"I'll leave you here," Mary Jane said hastily.

"All right," said Ruth conceded, "Bye now."

Mary Jane turned and retraced the steps back up the drive but skirting the house by a small flagstone path, passed the beautifully laid out formal gardens. Farther on was another sweep of lawn and then the tennis court and swimming pool, with its snug canvas covering. More lawn and then a high brick wall with a small greenhouse set in one corner. Well cared for bushes and trees grew in profusion along here. She stood still for a moment on the edge of the dense tangle of undergrowth, half turned to the house when she thought she heard a peculiar noise in the bushes near her. She turned her heart leaping in her mouth. The sun was shining brilliantly now sparkling on something shiny, among green leaves, shiny like the barrel of a gun!

With no thought except of escape she turned blindly and ran toward the back of the house. There was a small veranda here too and she mounted it trying desperately one of the doors opening on to it. To her surprise and relief it opened and she slipped inside, locking the door behind her.

The room she was in was wide and spacious, the walls and woodwork pale green, the antique furniture mahogany, highly polished and upholstered in dark green and beige. Later she was to learn it was known as the Green Room, but now she took no heed of her surroundings. She ran across the room and opened the door that led into the hall. She hurried down it, past the double yellow parlors to the back stairs. She did not stop until she was safely in her own room where she flung off her coat and threw herself across the bed to get her breath.

She felt terribly frightened. Someone had been hiding-or waiting?- in the bushes; for her? Who had known she would come along? Ruth? Miriam? Her heart was beating hard again; it was almost agony to breathe. She thought again of the gun in Miriam's room and shivered violently.

She pulled herself up, forcing herself to go into the bathroom and wash her face. Then suddenly she had made up her mind. This guessing, this not knowing would drive her mad. She thought desperately she must know.

She went out into the hall and down the wide corridor to the stairs where she could look over the balustrade into the lower hall. Miriam stood in the door of the library talking to Adelaide. Even as Mary Jane watched the two women went back toward the kitchen together.

Mary Jane backed away. She would have to take a chance and work quickly. She reached the door of Miriam's bedroom and turned the knob swiftly. Once inside she looked around ashamed but determined. Then she sped to the tall bureau and pulled out the bottom drawer. The flowered lingerie bag still lay under a pile of dainty undergarments. She opened it, her hands shaking, and pulled out the negligee, laying it on the bed and searching through the filmy folds. She even shook the bag, but it was no use. The gun was simply not there.


	11. Chapter 11

**XI**

Lunch was a gay affair after all. The six people sitting around the huge dining room table did their best to contribute to the tentative air of gaiety even though evil suspicion and unsaid accusations lingered near the surface. Mary Jane sat stiffly beside Gene saying little and eating even less. The meal seemed as though it would never end, and finally when it was over, she almost ran into the hall with Gene right behind her. He caught her arm.

"Mary Jane, wait, please."

"What do you want?" she asked quietly.

He opened the door of Richard's study. "Come in here. We won't be disturbed. I want to talk to you."

"All right."

She preceded him into the pine paneled room and sat down in a big red leather chair. "I'm listening. Go ahead and talk." She said coolly.

"Look Mary Jane, what you saw this morning-"

"I'm sure that's your own business, Gene."

"I've got to explain." He leaned dejectedly against the big mahogany desk. "I met Norma in Europe about a year and a half ago. I was a foreign correspondent for The Associated Press and she was an entertainer with a USO show playing at camps for the occupation forces. She-she made no secret of the fact that she had fallen in love with me. And when I was sent back to the States she managed to follow me to New York and then here to Kingston," he smiled cynically, "to visit Aunt Adelaide. You understand now, don't you? She's been making sort of a game of pursuing me. But she doesn't mean a thing to me." He smiled engagingly.

"I understand, but you didn't have to tell me you know."

"I wanted to……Mary Jane, as soon as this business is over---look, didn't Amy Stanton ever give you some clue…well, about yourself?"

"I only saw her once, Gene," Mary Jane said softly, "She didn't tell me a thing."

"All right, let's forget I even asked. Shall we go back to the others?"

There was a knock on the door and Paul looked in. "Hi, youngsters. How about a drink?" He crossed the room over to the liquor cabinet.

"Nothing for me, thanks," Gene murmured, "See you later."

He left the room, closing the door firmly behind him

Paul poured two glasses of port and handed to Mary Jane one. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You didn't," Mary Jane smiled. "Have you learned anything more Paul?"

He sat down on the edge of the desk. "I called my detective and then saw Mr. Carr. He admitted that he and Stanton were planning to pull out to Mexico via El Paso but that's all. The police had gotten to him first though. Even the law boys took him to the police station for more questioning. I don't think they'll learn anything new though."

"When will the detective be here?"

"Oh, sometime this afternoon, he's driving in from New York."

"Harold and Richard didn't say anything about it at lunch."

"They weren't too keen on the idea anyway." He stood up and set his empty glass on the liquor cabinet.

"What next, Paul?"

"Right now, nothing," he frowned, "The police were hunting for the gun again around the grounds this morning."

Mary Jane closed her eyes for a second. She longed to tell him everything she knew about the gun, but she pressed the words back.

Perhaps it was because Miriam was the friend who had offered her a job and a home. She didn't know. She only felt grateful when Paul suggested they join the others. They found them in the hall, by the front door yet Richard and Harold going back to the plant and Ruth and Gene preparing to start for home. After they left, Miriam turned to Paul.

"Have you had your lunch Paul?"

"I grabbed a sandwich uptown but I could stand something else. I think I'll go and snoop and see if Adelaide saved something for me."

He strolled away; Miriam looked down at her watch. "I have an appointment in town this afternoon. I'd better go and dress."

She moved away and up the stairs walking with her own peculiar liquid grace. Mary Jane turned and went to the library. Richard had brought the afternoon papers and she curled up in a chair with a batch of newsprint under her arm. The murder at Park Louise occupied a prominent spot in all of them.

She was deeply engrossed in the Boston Herald when Jeeves appeared in the doorway. Mary Jane looked up, "Yes, Jeeves?"

"Telegram for you, Miss Lansing," he whisked out the yellow envelope on a small silver dish.

She frowned down at the yellow paper and after he had gone, she ripped open the covering, extracting the yellow message…

**JUST READ BAD NEWS IN PAPER STOP**

**DO YOU NEED HELP? STOP**

**WILL DO WHATEVER I CAN TO HELP.**

**SINCERELY,**

**CHARLES GREENTREE**

Mary Jane smiled a little sadly. How sweet of Mr. Greentree, she thought. I only wish he could help me…..

Carrying the telegram she went upstairs to her room. An attractive brown haired girl was dusting the vanity as Mary Jane came in. She looked up smiling.

"I'm Nina Harvey, Miss Lansing." "Hello, Nina." She sat down on the edge of her bed and looked around, "By the way would you unpack my trunk for me?"

"Of course," Nina responded.

Mary Jane removed the key from her jewel case and handed it to the attractive young maid. As Nina bent down to unlock the trunk, Mary Jane murmured, "Harvey."

Nina looked up, "Did you say something?"

"Are you any relation to Phyllis Harvey, Nina?"

"She's my sister," Nina replied, lifting a dress packed in tissue from the trunk. "Do you know Phyllis?"

"Why yes, I met her in the ticket office at the station yesterday afternoon." Nina sighed, "That's Phyllis for you. She spends most of her time there watching the trains come in. I'm afraid she's an incurable romantic."

Mary Jane smiled, "Aren't most girls her age?"

"Yes I suppose so," Nina replied turning her attention back to the trunk smiling to herself.

Mary Jane laid the telegram inside if her jewel case and after locking it again, she ran a comb through her hair, repaired the damage to her make-up and had started back down the hall when Miriam came out of her room. She was wearing a grey suit now with black accessories and a high crowned black hat, a luxurious sable coat folded over her arm.

Miriam did not see her but had started down the stairs as Mary Jane looking over the balustrade saw the front door open and a tall stately man come in to the lower hall.

Miriam cried, "Park!" and hurried down to meet him.

"My dear," the man said taking her hands firmly in his, "I hurried home as soon as I read about the murder in the papers. Needless to say I was terribly shocked. What a terrible thing to happen."

It's been pretty bad," Miriam admitted slowly with a smile, "I'm glad you're here."

Mary Jane came down the stairs slowly and Miriam turned, "Janie, dear," she said warmly, "I'd like you to meet my father-in-law Richard Parker Sr."

The man extended his long, thin hand. He was tall, elegant and handsome, with white hair and a perpetually bored expression. "How-do-you-do, Miss Lansing," he said in a cultured voice adding with a twinkle in his eye, "So you're the young lady I've been reading so much about."

"Come into the library," Miriam interrupted hastily, "Did you have a good trip?" And Mary Jane felt then that she was looking at a sneak preview of how Harold Parker would look in twenty years.

"A very good trip, thank you, my dear. And now tell me what's been going on around here." Miriam said smoothly, laying her fur coat across a chair, "I'm sure I can't tell you anymore than you've already read in the papers. I'll get you a drink."

"Never mind," said Park settling back in a chair and eyeing them both. "You two look about as cheerful as caged lions," he leaned over to pat Miriam's hand, then shot out suddenly, "Who do the police suspect?"

"I don't know," said Miriam.

Park started to reply when the front doorbell rang shrilly and Jeeves strode down the hall to answer it. In a moment he was at the door of the library.

"Mrs. Willard Deane to see you, Mrs. Parker."

"Oh, good lord," Miriam murmured, while Parker merely grunted.

"I don't suppose it would do any good to her we're not here," he said after a moment.

"I hardly think so, sir," Jeeves replied gravely.

"Show her in, Jeeves," Miriam said.

"Very good, madam." In a moment the butler was back with a striking white-haired woman who struck Mary Jane as being oddly familiar until she remembered that this Mrs. Deane had been the aristocratically dressed woman in the station yesterday when she had gone to telephone.

"Good afternoon, Florence," Miriam was saying.

"My dear, I just had to come after I read that horrible article in the paper and would you believe it I had the worst time getting past those horrid policemen. They didn't want to let me in until I explained that I was an old friend of the family. Oh, hello Park."

"Good afternoon, Florence," Park answered in a disinterested voice.

Mrs. Deane turned back to Miriam. "You simply must tell me all about it, Miriam. Was it too terrible for words?" she was asking when her aristocratic eye fell on Mary Jane. Miriam made the introductions hastily.

"Why, of course," Florence Deane said, "You poor girl. Do the police really believe you did it?" Adding a little nervously, sit down, Florence. I'll take your coat."

"Thank you, dear, but I can only stay for a minute."

"At least, let me get you a cocktail."

"Oh, don't bother."

"It's no bother. They're all made."

She went over to the mahogany desk where a tall decanter stood on a silver tray along with a few long stemmed glasses. She poured Martinis for them and Park helped her serve them.

Florence sipped hers a moment without comment and then turned to Miriam, "Delicious, my dear. And now," she lowered her voice, "What is this murder business all about?"

Miriam smiled almost candidly, "We've gotten lost in the shuffle, you know. We didn't even know the woman."

"Horrible," pronounced Florence Deane, "It has really set the town on its ear. You know I suppose that she was staying at the hotel."

Miriam sat up straight, her eyes wide, "No I hadn't heard about it. How do you know?"

"It's all over town, Miriam. Mr. Erickson the druggist, told me about it. And some man was here with her too. The reporters tried to get into see him, but the police took him to Chief Kelly's office and wouldn't let anybody near him."

Unsatisfied, Florence turned to Mary Jane, "Do you know anything else about the woman, Miss Lansing?"

"Hardly anything. I-I understand that she was somewhat of a mystery herself."

"Is it true my dear, that the police suspect you of murdering her?"

The color drained out of Mary Jane's cheeks slowly. Florence had asked something she dared not even think of.

Suddenly she realized that Park was thundering, with obvious satisfaction, "Damn it, Florence, you talk too much!"

"Park!" Miriam cried, horrified, "Please apologize to Florence."

Florence Deane's mouth had fallen open and now she rearranged her furs around her shoulders haughtily, "I'm certain I'm not waiting for an apology," she said icily, "when there is no sign of one forthcoming. Good day, Miriam!" She turned and marched away her white head held high.

"Oh, Park," Miriam said wearily when the front door had closed behind Florence Deane with a shaking bang, "Did you have to tell her that."

"I've wanted to say that for a long while. Well it's true," Park chuckled, "This is probably the first time in her life that she was speechless."

Then she paused. "You knew Amy Stanton had been staying at the hotel didn't you, Mary Jane?"

"Yes. Chief Kelly told me a little while ago." "And the man who was with her?" "Her lawyer."

Miriam said abruptly as she glanced down at her watch, "Good Lord, look at the time. I'm late already. I have an appointment downtown."

She put on her beautiful fur coat and picked up her black bag and gloves.

"I'll be back soon." She left the room and disappeared down the hall.

Park set his empty glass on a table and rose. "If you'll excuse me, my dear, I'll go to my room and freshen up."

"Of course," Mary Jane murmured.

After she was alone she relaxed on the rose sofa. It had been an exhausting day. She felt as if it would never end. She heard footsteps in the hall and Jeeves came into the room to replenish the dying fire. A moment later he had gone taking the empty cocktail glasses with him.

Somewhere upstairs she heard the distant hum of a vacuum cleaner; otherwise there was no sound in the great house. She began to feel drowsy; it was so warm and comfortable by the fire. She put her head back against the rose cushions and closed her eyes. When the doorbell rang she did not stir. It rang for a long time before it finally stopped.

The front door did not even register in her sleepy brain. She was still half asleep as footsteps came down the hall and stopped at the quiet opening and closing of the library door.

"Oh, excuse me," said a masculine voice.

Startled, she jumped to her feet turning her head widely as she saw a black form standing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry," said the black form, "I didn't mean to frighten you. I rang the bell but no one answered. The door was open so I came right in. Are you Mrs. Parker?"

Now that the first surprise had passed she began to take in his words.

"No, I'm not Mrs. Parker. The butler must not have heard the bell. Is there something I can do for you?"

"I was looking for Paul Carver. Is he here?"

It was getting dark. She could not see him clearly and he probably could not see her very well either she realized. She went closer.

"He was here a little while ago. I-"

She stopped. Now that she was closer she caught a glimpse of smooth black hair, a nice smile, and a plain face that was strangely attractive.

"My goodness," she said, as she realized now who it was.

The man on the train coming from Boston the day before.

Dane Lambert.


	12. Chapter 12

**XII**

He had recognized her now, he said, "Well, if it isn't Miss Boston."

"Come in and sit down," she said, "I'll see if I can find Paul," she started through the door then she stopped, "You can't be the detective?"

"Nobody else but," he responded gaily, "Didn't you remember my name."

"Why, yes, but I never asked him who the detective was and he never mentioned it.

She had not heard the front door open a second time but now a cold draft sailed down the hall along with two masculine voices. She looked out into the corridor. It was Paul and Richard.

"Here he is now," she said over her shoulder to Dane.

The other two men were coming up to her. "Is Miriam with you?" Richard was asking.

"No, she went downtown. But here's someone else I think you're interested in." Dane had come up in back of her, "Hi, Paul," he said nonchalantly.

"Dane!" Paul put out his hand, "It's swell seeing you again boy. I didn't think you'd be along so soon." He introduced Richard to the detective and then the men and Mary Jane sat down before the fire.

"You'll be able to get a crack at the police very soon now, Lambert," said Richard grimly. "Chief Kelly was at the plant this afternoon looking things over. He informed me that he and the Sheriff would be out to the house later."

"Has anything also developed since you called me, Paul?" Dane asked.

Paul gave a quick low-voiced synopsis of the whole ugly business while Dane listened thoughtfully. "I think," Paul added after he had finished, "That we'd better keep your real identity a secret for a while. We can make up some reason for your being here."

Dane smiled oddly, "Maybe I should have told you this before, Paul, but the case appealed to me and I wanted a crack at it." He said slowly.

Richard leaned forward in his chair, "What do you mean?"

Dane let the bombshell drop almost casually, "Arthur Kelly is my uncle." "What?" Richard shot out disbelievingly; Paul merely frowned, a frown that deepened into a thoughtful scowl.

"That does change things, but still—is he fond of you?"

"Very, I used to spend all my summers here when I was a kid."

"Perhaps it is just as well then. If he does like you he might take you into his confidence, that way we'll be able to know just what the police are doing." "He's not going to like my being retained by you," Dane warned.

"Let's wait and see what happens before we make any decisions," Paul suggested, "Is that all right with you, Richard?"

"Yes, it's all right," Richard lit a cigarette rather nervously, "Miriam shouldn't have gone out. The town's overrun with reporters. One of them is sure to recognize her."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, Richard," This was from Mary Jane who had been silent until then, "You father came home a little while ago."

"Dad?" Richard tensed, "Does he know about the murder? Yes, of course, he must."

"Nothing. Miriam was here. She wouldn't talk about the murder."

"Park's no fool," Paul said with a sudden grin, "Maybe you'd better go and talk to him, Rich."

"Yes, it might be a good idea at that." Richard stood up, "Where is he, Mary Jane?"

"I believe he went to his room."

Richard strode away, taking the stairs two at a time.

Paul shook his head sadly. "This thing gets more complicated by the minute. Rich gave a statement to the press at the plant this afternoon. Have there been any reporters around here lately, Mary Jane?"

"No I don't think so. I haven't seen any." She was silent for a moment, "Why are the police coming here this afternoon, Paul?"

He shrugged lightly, "More questions I suppose."

There was a distant whirl of a motor on the drive and both Paul and Dane jumped to attention.

"It must be the police now," Paul said. He rose and crossed the room to the door. In a moment he looked back at them with a grin, "Wrong again. It's Harold….and Gene too."

"Greetings," he called out as the front door opened and closed.

"Greetings yourself," Gene's voice floated down the hallway. In a moment the two men followed. Paul motioned them into the library and promptly introduced Dane. "Where's Rich?" Harold asked his dark eyes scanning the room, Watching Harold, Mary Jane thought a strange looked passed over his face and lingered in his eyes. "Rich is with them then?" he said quietly.

Perhaps Paul had noticed the look too. At any rate his voice was not as gay as it might have been, he said, "How did you guess."

"I've had practice," Harold returned lightly, "Are they upstairs?"

At Paul's nod he left the room.

Gene sat down in the chair Richard had vacated. "The police haven't come yet have they."

"No," said Dane.

In the slight pause that followed the clock on the mantelpiece struck the half hour in its clear sweet tone.

Gene looked up quickly and then down at his watch. "I was supposed to call the newspaper office in New York fifteen minutes ago. I'd better do it now. I'll be in the study if you want me," he said.

He had been gone only a few minutes when Harold and Richard's footsteps dimmed by the thick carpet that covered the broad winding stairs as they were coming down together. As they appeared in the library door, Richard said, "Sheriff Harmon is coming up the walk now. Kelly can't be far behind."

"You know," Harold said lazily, "Kelly wasn't at all nice to me when I saw him this morning. I think I'll go back to the Green Room and have a smoke. You can tell me what happened later."

He disappeared down the hall as the doorbell chimed and Jeeves came out of the dining room, to answer it.

And then Kelly and Harmon were in the room, Kelly was carrying a bundle while Harmon had a sheet draped object over his arm. Kelly had laid the bundle tenderly on the desk before he noticed the man sitting near-by. But when he did his jaw dropped.

"Dane," he said incredulously, "What are you doing here?"

Dane Lambert rose with a winning smile, "Hello, Uncle Art," he said easily, "Hi, Tim."

The sheriff smiled, "Hi yourself. Quite a surprise." But he looked puzzled too.

Sharply this time, "What you doing here, Dane?" Kelly repeated.

Before Dane could reply, Paul said quickly, "I sent for him Kelly, I think he's needed here."

Kelly's eyes narrowed, "I'm beginning to see," needed in the capacity of a private detective, he was silent a moment thinking it over, then he finished briskly, "Well, maybe you're right Mr. Carver anyway, it might as well be Dane as anyone else. He turned his attention again to the bundle on the desk. There was really not much inside, Mary Jane noted after he had opened it, but the sight of it made her a little sick to her stomach just an expensive looking black dress, black shoes and a pair of silk hose, they had even brought along the mink coat under the sheet Tim had carried in. She was dressed well enough. Now Kelly spread the luxurious fur over a chair. "Good quality too," he murmured. "She wore everything last night. There are no identifying marks or labels to be found."

Dane looked down at the assortment curiously be he made no comment. Kelly put his hand into his pocket and then bringing it out again laid something small and bright on the desk.

Richard looked down at it. "An earring," he said.

"Yes," Kelly replied, "A jade earring. She was wearing only one when we found her."

Her heart pounding, Mary Jane moved closer to the desk. The small oddly fashioned bit of jade winked up at her in the light.

"I found an earring like that last night," she said slowly.

The men snapped to instant attention.

"I thought it was Miriam's; I was going to give it to her, but I must have forgotten," She went on, "It's probably still in my suit pocket."

"Where did you find the earring, Miss Lansing?" Kelly asked.

"Upstairs. In the hallway by Miriam's door. I never dreamed it belonged to Amy Stanton." She looked around with puzzled eyes; she wanted to say, "But if it was Amy Stanton's earring and she lost it, the she must have been upstairs," but she was silent.

"You say you still have it," this was from Kelly.

"Yes."

"I think you'd better bring it to me."

She nodded and hesitating only a second and left the room. At the top of the winding stairway she paused. The light had not yet been turned on in the upper hallway, and in the darkness it took her a moment to get her bearings. Her footsteps echoed weirdly as she started down the long empty corridor.

It took her a good five minutes to find her room, go inside, and switch on the lights. The she headed for the closet and the jacket of her navy and white checked suit. She felt first in the left hand pocket, then the right. Yes, there it was small and bulky to her touch. She did not look at it but clutched it in her hand, and closing the closet door, and started out of the room. After turning out the lights, it took another minute to adjust her eyes to the blackness.

Then she was on her way again. She did not see the figure pressed against the wall striving to make itself part of the blackness; did not know that two eyes were fixed on her shining craftily. It happened after she bumped into the small antique table outside Miriam's door and clung to it to maintain her balance. Two arms reached suddenly out of the darkness from behind to clutch her waist. She could not scream; almost immediately a hand was pressed over her mouth. Then the force of the pressure on her waist was released. The figure was holding her only by the arm flung over her shoulders and the hand on her mouth. The other hand was gripping her wrist and was trying to force open her clutched hand. She strained away, but she was held in a grip of steel.

And then her strength went all at once. Her hand fell open limply over the attacker's hand. In this moment of victory for the black figure the hand over her mouth loosened. Gathering together the shattered remnants of back her strength, she screamed. Starting when the figure released her all at once pushing her away and running lightly down the hall the way from which she had come from.

She screamed again, even as she heard running footsteps start up the stairs, flinging thud; the wind knocked from her she crumpled up slowly onto the floor, her legs twisted under her. There were voices near her now, someone mumbling a curse against the darkness. Footsteps detached themselves then and in a moment a light flared up.

Instantly five men knelt beside her. "Are you all right?" Richard asked.

"Yes," she whispered, "I think so."

"Here, Paul, help me get her up," said Dane Lambert. They raised her gently to her feet, "Can you walk?" Dane asked.

She tried a faltering step. Her knees gave way suddenly and she would have fallen if Dane hadn't reached out and steadied her.

"Bring her over here," said a beautiful melodious voice and for the first time through a kind of mist, Mary Jane realized that Miriam was standing there too. They turned her around and she realized only dimly that they were seating her on a small pink love-seat set before a high arched window in a kind of alcove.

It was only then that she broke down. Sobs shook her slim figure and she buried her face in her hands.

Miriam sat down beside her and put a comforting arm around her waist but she said nothing. As Mary Jane's sobs died away, she pressed a lace edged handkerchief into her hand.

Mary Jane wiped her eyes with trembling fingers.

"What happened, Miss Lansing?" Kelly asked then anxiously.

"Someone—attacked me. Oh-" she dropped the handkerchief into her lap and looked down horrified at her empty hands.

"Was it a man?" Kelly was asking gently.

She nodded. I think so. But it could have been a very strong woman."

Kelly cleared his throat, "Was he---did you think whoever it was, was trying to kill you?"

Mary Jane shook her head. "No," she said bitterly, "He---someone was after the jade earring, and succeeded in getting it too. It's gone.


	13. Chapter 13

**XIII**

For a moment her words hung suspended in mid-air. Even as she said them, they sounded false and unreal to her own ears. Kelly didn't say much after that, but he and Tim spent a long time searching up and down the hall just to make sure the earring hadn't rolled away in some obscured corner out of her attacker's reach, hoping to find it and at the same time some clue to the person's identity. Funny to make such a fuss about an earring, she thought when she was back in her own bedroom again.

She could hear them walking back and forth and it was a long time before they went back downstairs. She lay on the big canopied bed, a soft, shell pink negligee wrapped around her. She did not feel frightened now; it was as if her room was a haven of safety, where the flowered draped drawn over the wide windows shutting out the night, the door locked securely with the key she had found lying on her vanity, closing out the blackness of the world beyond.

She thought back over the events of the seemingly endless day. She thought about the missing gun and wondered with an odd detachment why Black Figure hadn't used it on her. That is if Black Figure was the murderer; or perhaps he was the one who had killed Amy Stanton here in Kingston and someone else had taken the gun. Miriam? She might have moved it to another, safer spot. Everything seemed hopelessly mixed up. Once she had thought that a murder case involved simply the solving of a crime; she had not reckoned with the enigma of conflicting human emotions that drove people, even innocent people to do strange things.

She raised her arm and looked at her watch languidly. It was a little after six. There was still plenty of time before dinner. She again lay back thinking. Twenty-four hours ago she had just arrived; full of plans for the new life she was beginning. Well, she wouldn't think of that now.

There was a sudden knock on the door and she sat up with a jerk. "Who is it?" she called out breathlessly after a moment where nothing could harm her.

"It's Nina, Miss Lansing," came the answering voice.

"Oh," Mary Jane breathed with relief, "Just a moment. The door is locked."

She reached for her slippers and thrusting her feet into them, crossed the room. She opened the door cautiously. Nina smiled at her, sublimely unaware that anything was amiss.

"Is there anything you'd like pressed, Miss Lansing? I'll do it for you now."

She went over to the big cedar lined closet. Without much thought she selected a pale blue formal the bodice of which was made of a wool so soft it was almost silky to the touch. Blue was one of her best colors, she thought reminiscently, after Nina had gone away with the dress. It brought out the blue of her eyes fell on the framed picture of her father. Lying near her had probably put it there after she unpacked the trunk that afternoon. Mary Jane looked down at it with a little catch in her throat. There had been unusually close relationship between them especially since her mother's death. It had been a source of perpetual wonder to her that he had chosen to make Amy Stanton his sole heir, not only because of the money for she had been hurt and puzzled that her father had never told her of Amy Stanton what he had intended to do or why.

She sighed. The hurt had past now, only the puzzlement remained. Had Amy Stanton come to Park Louise to see her? She stirred uneasily. She like nothing about it. That morning she had thought she saw the flash of a gun through the bushes where she would have passed. She had wondered then if someone had been lying in for her. And now this afternoon the earring had been taken from her with brutal force. It was a new and frightening experience to wonder if someone was trying to kill you. She thought about it a moment and then her mind went back to the jade earring. Where did it fit into the death of Amy Stanton, into the disconnected pieces of the puzzle?

She sat there for a while even after Nina had brought her dress back and was running her bath. When at last she lay back in the pine scented water, she tried not to think. She was too tired, too mixed up.

She was getting out of the tub when someone knocked on the door. Before she could call out, she heard the knob turn but the lock held and the door would not open.

"It's Miriam, Janie. Are you there?"

"Yes. I'm just getting out of the tub. Wait."

She dried herself quickly with a big Turkish towel and slipped into the pink negligee. When she opened the door, she was surprised to see Miriam standing there already dressed in a beautiful two-piece gold lame dinner gown; she wore in addition topaz earrings set in gold, showed to advantage by her up-swept coiffure and a matching topaz bracelet; on her right hand an immense emerald dinner ring glowed softly in the light.

"Come in," Mary Jane said, "You're dressed early."

"Yes," said Miriam. She sat down on one of the chintz covered chairs. She was carrying a gold cigarette case and small matching lighter both of which bore her initials worked out in a number of multicolored stones; she took a cigarette and offered the case to Mary Jane who shook her head.

Suddenly she knew why Miriam had come. That morning she, Mary Jane, had given Miriam an ultimatum; either she gave the gun to the police or Richard would learn the secret concerning her past. Miriam had promised to give her answer tonight. Mary Jane stiffened.

Miriam blew smoke toward the ceiling, "I went to the doctor this afternoon, Janie."

"A doctor?" Mary Jane echoed in surprise. "Why?"

"Remember last night, I almost fainted. It's almost impossible for me to faint. I didn't know quite what to make of it so I went to my doctor and he confirmed my suspicions," Miriam took a deep breath; "I'm going to have another baby."

Mary Jane looked at her for a moment without saying anything. "That's wonderful," she managed at last, "Have you told Richard yet?"

"No, and I'm not going to for a while. Poor darling, he's got so much on his mind without worrying about me and he would worry you know if I told him. I-I had to tell somebody. And-well-we have been close friends, Janie."

She was lying; Mary Jane knew it, Miriam herself knew it. Then she knew Mary Jane began to get the idea; it was almost as if Miriam had spoken aloud.

"Now that there's going to be a baby," she might have said, "You can't tell Rich about me. If I had to bear it myself it would be all right but with a baby coming how can you spoil his illusions about me?"

Miriam, did you take the gun from the drawer and put it in another place?"

Mary Jane said abruptly, "Another place? No, of course not. I left it where it was."

Mary Jane shrugged, "All right, Miriam," she sighed, "You win."

Miriam's beautiful velvety brown eyes softened; her voice was low and husky; she did not pretend to understand.

"Thank you, darling. For my sake," her voice lowered, "still more and my baby's." She stood up slim and willowy in the gold dress. "I've been keeping you from dressing too long. I'd better go downstairs and see about the drinks. Join me when you're ready."

At the door she paused, "Why did you ask me about the gun Janie?"

"No reason."

"Oh, well, I know you think I'm doing the wrong thing, but it will work out and darling……I'm really horrified about what happened this afternoon. If anything had happened to you—but then nothing is going to happen. I'll see you later."

The door closed firmly behind her.

Mary Jane turned the key in the lock slowly. She dressed automatically, paying little attention to what she was doing. She let her hair hang loose to her shoulders and then pulled her dress carefully over her head, and straightened it down over her hips. From then to the floor it flared into an enormously full skirt of pale blue lame a thread of silver winding its way through the material, caught onto one of the mahogany posts supporting the canopy over her bed; she was tightening the straps of the gold clogs around her ankles when there was a knock on the door.

With a patient sigh, she once more and pulled open the door. Norma Turner was standing there.

"I want to talk to you," she said.

"Come in." Mary Jane stood aside to let Norma pass her and then closed the door. Norma stood in the center of the room, looking around. She wore a red taffeta formal with a low neckline and ankle length skirt pushed out slightly over the crinoline skirt underneath. She looked vivid and uncommonly beautiful.

"Sit down," Mary Jane invited.

"No, thank you. I can say what I want to standing." She flung up her head, her full red lips pouting and mutinous. "I'm warning you, stay away from Gene. He belongs to me. Stay away---or you'll be sorry."

Mary Jane said shakily, "Is that a threat?"

The other woman shrugged, "Take it anyway you want to, only stay away. Her voice was ominous and deadly. Mary Jane felt that here was the kind of person who would go to any lengths to get what she wanted.

"Is that what you came to tell me?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"Yes, I guess it is. I think you'd better go."

For a moment Norma's face softened, "He's just another man to you," she said, "He's my life."

"I should think you'd have more pride than to throw yourself at a man's feet." Norma tossed her head haughtily, "You've never been in love," she said contemptuously. With that she left. For a moment Mary Jane wasn't sure if she was angry, irritated, or amused. She decided at last that it was an unfathomable mixture of the three. Was she then falling in love with Gene? It seemed impossible that it could have happened in such a short time under such strained conditions. But then she couldn't be sure about anything anymore.

She finished dressing rapidly, switched out the overhead lights, and opened the door just as Paul was passing by the hallway.

"Hello," he said, "Going my way?"

"If you're going downstairs. Have the police left?"

"Yes, quite a while ago. Kelly questioned everybody, but I don't think he got anything worthwhile. The servants heard nothing; Gene was telephoning in the study, and Harold was reading in the Green Room. Norma Turner was around someplace and Park didn't hear the commotion because he was taking a shower. Oh, and of course, Miriam was just coming in the door when you screamed. So that winds up everything up in once nice, neat little bundle labeled 'nothing'".

"Do you think they'll ever find out who took the earring?"

"If it was the murderer, yes. If not, maybe never."

"It frightens me, Paul, when I think of it. We don't know who's next or what's next."

Paul nodded wisely, "I know how you feel,"

They walked on in silence until they reached the bottom of the stairs. One thing I do know," Paul then said, "They're holding the inquest tomorrow."


	14. Chapter 14

**XIV**

"Inquest!" she cried sharply. The color drained slowly from her face.

"Yes, what's wrong?"

"I'll have to testify, won't I?"

"I'm afraid so. Everybody will. But it won't take long. Kelly's keeping it as simple as possible. They're holding the inquest here in the house to avoid having a bunch of spectators. There will be newspaper boys of course. But they won't bother you much except for a few pictures and a statement probably."

"What time?"

"At ten thirty in the morning."

"Ten thirty," she repeated.

"Come on," he said, "Let's see where everybody is."

They found Miriam in the music room examining the canapés arranged on a silver tray. The room was done in shades of gray and green with a well stocked silver and chromium bar in one corner. Jeeves stood behind it setting out bowls of cracked ice and slices of lemons and cherries.

Paul peered over Miriam's shoulder, "Looks good," he said.

"Have one. They are good. Adelaide outdid herself tonight."

Paul selected a delectable looking morsel and wandered over to the bar.

"Janie," Miriam said very low, "I have to talk to you. Come over here by the windows." She fumbled for the cord that pulled back the chartreuse green drape. The French windows behind them opened onto a terrace.

"What's wrong?" Mary Jane asked.

"The gun is gone, Janie. I stopped in my room on the way downstairs and looked for it. But I can't find it. I looked everywhere. What am I going to do?"

"Oh, Miriam, I don't know," Mary Jane said drearily, "Why don't you tell the police?"

"No, Janie; no. I couldn't do that."

Mary Jane sighed, "I suppose you could take Paul into your confidence if you wanted to. He'd know the right thing to do."

"Yes, that's what I'll do. Tell Paul right away."

Miriam started to move away when she said groaning slightly, "I can't now. Here come Ruth and Harold."

Mary Jane turned her head toward the doorway. "Hello," said Miriam, "I didn't hear the car. Where's Gene?"

"Oh, he wasn't quite ready so we came on ahead. He'll be here in a little while," Ruth said. She was looking well that night; the simple dress she wore of a cream color that flattered her face and figure, while Harold as usual was the embodiment of good taste in a beautifully cut, well made dark suit.

He said a few words to his hostess and then headed for the bar.

"How's it coming?" he asked Jeeves.

"Everything is ready, sir."

"Good. I'll take over now. Come on, everybody," he said, "Drinks."

"It's about time," Paul grumbled good-naturedly.

Miriam looked toward the doorway again. "Good evening," she said, with a welcoming smile.

"Good evening," replied Dane Lambert.

"Do you two know each other?" asked Paul sliding down from his seat at the bar and joining them with a cocktail glass in hand.

"Well, yes and no. We haven't been introduced if that's what you mean," Dane said with his delightful smile.

"We'll have to remedy that right now," declared Paul, "Mrs. Parker, Mr. Lambert."

Miriam put out a shapely hand, the emerald ring on her finger sparkling, "How do you do?"

"How do you do, Mrs. Parker." Dane looked at her, with frank admiration shining in his grey eyes.

"May I get you a cocktail?"

"Why, yes, I'd like one."

"Martini, Whiskey Sour--?"

"A Whiskey Sour would be fine."

He followed her to the bar, and Paul came over to Mary Jane.

"And how about you, my turtle dove, would you like a drink?"

"No, thanks, not right now."

They sat down on a grey eighteenth century divan and talked for a few minutes about gay, inconsequential things. Norma came in after a while and began drinking silently and alone. Evidently she too had been invited to dinner.

"That girl is asking for a hangover," Paul commented once.

Gene, Richard and Park came in then together. Miriam moved among them, gracious and beautiful, the perfect hostess, seeing that everyone had drinks and knowing the exact moment to send Eloise who was serving to the kitchen for more of the delicious canapés. Looking at her no one would guess that she was inwardly worried and tormented. Mary Jane thought.

She looked around her at the well dressed laughing people wondering if one of them had been hiding in the upper hall that afternoon intent on a forceful and horrible purpose. She tried to put it out of her mind but the thought persisted; who?

Belatedly she turned her attention back to Paul, but he too seemed to be preoccupied with his own thoughts, frowning down at his cocktail glass.

He turned his head unexpectedly meeting her eyes with a little smile, "Looks peaceful doesn't it?" he said with a glance around him and she wondered if he had been thinking the same thing she had."

"Almost too peaceful," she replied; she was gripped suddenly in a feeling of unreality, it was just an interested onlooker of and the others were gigantic on a stage merely acting out their prescribed parts before her eyes.

Even after Jeeves announced dinner and she and Paul were following the others into the dining room the curious feeling persisted and always the same thought haunted her; what would happen next?

She was seated at the huge mahogany table between Park and Gene and once Gene leaned over toward her to say softly, "You look beautiful tonight, do you know what?"

Conscious of Norma's burning eyes watching them from across the table, Mary Jane could not answer; anything she might have said caught in her throat. She kept her eyes on her plate and said nothing.

She sighed with relief when dessert was over; Miriam rose and led the way back to the music room. Mary Jane sat down near Miriam and Richard as the talk became general again. She did not know Dane had come up behind her until he bent down and said softly, "I'm sorry to have to take you away but I'm going to have to ask you to come with me to the police station."

Her heart turned over slowly, "Now?" she asked quietly.

He nodded; near her, Richard looked up, his face suddenly worried.

"If you'll wait until I change--"

"Oh, that won't be necessary. This will only take a few minutes."

"All right, my coat is upstairs; though I'll have to get it." She realized then that her words meant another trip down the long, empty upstairs hallway, and she shivered.

"Miriam, who had been listening quietly, said now, "Don't bother with your coat, Janie. Take one of mine. The sable is in the closet on this floor. I'll have Jeeves get it for you."

Harold who had been telling some particularly witty jokes involuntarily lit another cigarette and Ruth said disapprovingly, "You've been smoking too much tonight."

Harold shrugged, "I always smoke too much."

Mary Jane thanked Miriam for the loan of her fur coat and Dane followed her into the hall. He helped her on with the beautiful borrowed fur coat and after shrugging into his own coat, opened the heavy front door. They went out into the still night together; it had started to snow again; everything was clothed in a fresh coat of clean white. She realized at once that she had made a mistake in coming without rubbers. She could feel the moisture from the wet snow under her feet, seeping through the thin soles of her clogs.

They made their way to Dane's car, a long grey convertible, parked near the garage. She sat beside him in the front seat, welcoming the warmth that flowed from the heater near her feet. She slid the clogs off her heels giving them a chance to dry as Dane guided the car down the drive and past the lighted gate where the policeman stationed there and gave them a friendly salute.

Dane swung the roadster onto the wide boulevard; there were a few cars on the road now and pressed his foot firmly against the accelerator. After a few minutes the turned into a narrow side street. Here cars lined both sides of the road and Dane was forced to slow down inching his way along. They passed the red brick police station where a variety of men lined the steps while others walked back and forth along the sidewalk.

"Reporters," Dane explained, "Uncle Art says they've been hanging around all day waiting for something to break and getting everybody's picture at the same time. But we'll fool 'em."

He drove a block further and turned up a street doubling back until he nosed the car into a narrow alley that ran along in back of the police station. He parked in the small brick garage beside a black patrol wagon.

"The gentlemen in front haven't discovered this place yet," he told her as they walked across the alley to the stone steps that led up to the back entrance. It was still snowing quietly; the small bright flakes caught and gleamed in her dark hair.

"Watch your step. It's pretty icy," he said putting his hand at her elbow and piloting her up the stairs to the back door.

She stepped inside the building, looking around curiously. They were in a long hall on which a opened a series of doors. Far ahead she could see the desk sergeant talking on the telephone.

Dane led the way to a closed door marked Private on the frosted glass and knocked softly.

"Come in," a muffled voice called.

Dane opened the door and ushered her into the room. Kelly was sitting behind a small desk with Tim seated before it in a deep leather chair.

Dane took her coat and Tim rose to offer her his seat.

"Sorry we had to bring you down here tonight, Miss Lansing," said Kelly, "but it's very important." He reached into the top drawer and brought out a large manila envelope, switching on a small lamp on his desk pushing it toward her. "Turn out the top light, Dane, will you?"

Dane reached for the overhead switch and the room was plunged into darkness except for the small circle of light on the desk. Kelly rose and went to her side opening the manila folder. "Now then Miss Lansing, do you remember last night you spoke of seeing Amy Stanton at the reading of your father's will with a man she called Barney?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Good. I'd like to have you identify Barney if you can from these photographs."

"He took a number of pictures from the envelope and laid them one by one on the desk before her, under the lamp. Surprised by the request, Mary Jane studied the photographs carefully as they were laid in front of her.

Kelly nearing the bottom of the pile when she cried triumphantly, "That's him,"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

The chief seemed pleased. He gathered up the photographs and said cheerfully, "Thank you very much, Miss Lansing. That will be all. Dane will take you back to Park Louise."

Mary Jane asked curiously, "Who is Barney and why is he so important?"

Dane relaxed against the side of the desk. "Barney Jason alias Bernard Jackson alias George Gates, a very notorious blackmailer and not at all a nice character, so far the police haven't been able to pin anything on him that would stand up as evidence in court, but he'll make a mistake some day and then they'll have him. So if he was mixed up with Amy Stanton, you can see what that might add up to."

"You mean she and Barney might have been blackmailing somebody?"

"It's worth looking into."

He was silent for a moment looking down at her strangely with a thoughtful half smile on his face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm sorry. I was just thinking-"

"About what?"

"Oh, I was just wondering if you couldn't help us get to the bottom of this thing, if you wanted to."

She stiffened visibly; instantly suspicious. She said coldly, "Is this a conspiracy between you and your uncle?" Did you think I was going to break down and tell all if you got me alone? I'm not that much of a fool."

"Now you're angry. Could it be because I guessed right the first time?"

She said contemptuously, "You think you know all the answers, don't you?"

"A considerable number of them," He said easily.

Her eyes blazed with a sudden fire; why she was angry she didn't know, but all the frustration of the last two days seemed to have piled up on her until she was being smothered slowly, tortuous and there was no escape.

She leaped up out of her chair and screamed at him hysterically, "I won't let you or your uncle convict me of the murder! Never do you hear me, never, never!" She was half crying now, half laughing.

He caught her by the shoulders, his fingers gripping her until she winced, "Mary Jane, stop!" he said shaking her harshly.

He pulled her closer until her mouth, full and red, was beneath his. He bent his head and kissed her roughly. To his surprise she did not resist, but after he had released her she reached up quickly and slapped him across his face with all her strength.

With that, the hysteria passed as quickly as it had come and she dropped back lifelessly into the chair, her eyes on the floor. After a moment she gained enough courage to look up at him. He had not moved, but was thoughtfully rubbing the cheek she had slapped.

"Why did you kiss me?" she asked at last.

He grinned at her struggled fiercely as unexpectedly, "You had gone hysterical feeling sorry for yourself. I thought I could snap you out of it by doing something to make you angry with me. You'd forget about yourself that way, so I kissed you. Only I got fooled. You liked it."

"Oh," she pressed her lips together and snapped, "I should have known it would be impossible to talk to you. Please take me home. That is, if you're not arresting me."

Without a word he brought the fur coat to her and just as silently they walked back to the car. It had stopped snowing now and the night was clear and quiet.

She pulled the coat tighter under her chin and told herself she wished she could cry. She closed her eyes and pressed the tears back. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he could make her cry.

And then almost before she realized it, he was turning the roadster into the gates of Park Louise. The lights of the car shot ahead of them and she glanced out of the side window looking over the top of the snow covered laurel that lined the drive at the white lawns.

They had almost reached the garage when she started suddenly, her fingers gripping his arm. He stopped the roadster immediately asking tensely, "What wrong?"

She said with shaking lips, "I thought I-saw something lying on the ground. I'm not sure though."

He turned on the spotlight flashing it over the lawn, "Here?"

"No, back farther."

He released the brake and they rolled slowly backward.

"About here," she said, then gasped, "Oh!"

The yellow beam threw a circle of light over a bright blue coat lying on the lawn, a blot of color against the white, looking strangely out of place.

Dane said shortly, "Stay here." He was out of the car in a second, jumping the low hedge of laurel and running lightly over the ground slipping once or twice on hidden treacherous patches of ice. He knelt beside the coat with his back to her, cutting off her range of vision.

Disregarding his order she opened the door and stepped out into a drift of snow floundering toward him. At the hedge she stopped.

"What is it?" she asked breathlessly.

He rose and turned to her and now as he moved aside, she could see that inside that snow covered blue coat laid a human figure strange and unnaturally still.

"Who is it?" she whispered.

"Eloise Thompson," he said.

"Eloise-" she repeated, "Was-was she shot?"

"No, it looks as if she fell against a rock and struck her head. It might have been an accident."

"We'd better get a doctor."

He looked at her strangely, "She doesn't need a doctor now. She's dead."

Mary Jane swayed dizzily.

"See here, don't faint."

With an effort she controlled herself, "No—no, I'm all right. What do you want me to do?"

"Go up to the garage and tell the policeman on duty there to get the coroner and Uncle Art down here right away. Then you'd better go back to the house. I'll wait here."

"All right. I'll hurry."

She turned and pushed her way through the snow back onto the drive. She hurried, as she had said she would, hardly conscious of what she was doing. The policeman stationed at the garage suggested that she sit down and rest, but when he turned away to telephone headquarters she slipped out again.

She began to run now, fearful of the shadows cast by bushes and trees across her path. Once she slipped and fell sideways into a drift of snow. Whimpering, she lay where she had fallen too exhausted to get up. It would be so easy, she thought, to stay where she was and let the cold numb her, her mind and senses so that she could not think. But strangely enough it the thought of the borrowed fur coat that pushed her to her feet again.

She repeated over and over to herself, "I mustn't let anything happen to Miriam's coat; she trusted me with it. I have to bring it back to her safely." She pulled herself up slowly and then she was running again, as if by hurrying she could forget the horror and fear that welled up in her throat.

The lights of the house flared up before her suddenly and she stumbled up the stairs and across the wide veranda. She opened the heavy front door, closed it and stepped into the hall and leaned back against it shutting the terrors of the night.

Miriam was coming down the winding stairs; she had changed her clothes into light brown lounging pajamas sparkling with a gold metallic thread running through it.

She said, "Oh, Janie, I'm glad you're back," and then she stopped at the bottom of the stairs, her hand on the newel post, "Darling what happened? You're covered with snow."

Mary Jane did not answer and fearfully Miriam came closer asking, "What's wrong?"

"There's been an accident. She's dead," Mary Jane said with no expression in her voice.

"Who's dead?" What are you talking about?"

"It's Eloise Thompson. She's lying in the snow outside. She's dead."

"Oh, no," Miriam moaned; she turned and raised her voice almost shrieking, "Richard!"

He came out of the library immediately with Park behind him.

"Miriam, what is it?"

"It's Eloise, she's dead, Rich!"

"Eloise, dead," he said incredulously, "What happened? Tell me."

Mary Jane told him. When she finished, he was silent for a moment and when he said, "I think I'd better call Harold and then tell him about it before the police do. If it was an accident—well, let's hope it was."

"Aren't they here?" Mary Jane asked in surprise. "No, they left just after you and Lambert did."

He turned and went across the hall into the dining room. The telephone was near the door and his conversation came clearly back to them.

"Hello, Gene? This is Richard. Look, I don't want to alarm anybody but there's been an accident over here. Eloise Thompson. Yes, she's dead. I thought you'd better know. No, you don't have to come over; you can if you want to. What? All right. Good-bye."

He hung up and came back to the others, "Gene's coming over. You'd better take that wet coat off, Mary Jane. You'll catch cold."

Park disappeared down the hall; Richard helped her out of the snow covered fur coat, shaking it off and hung it in the hall closet.

Park returned with a bottle of brandy under one arm and four glasses.

"We all need this," he stated flatly. He put the things on a small gold table and uncorked the tall bottle. He poured a substantial amount of the golden amber liquid into the glasses and set the bottle down again.

They drank the brandy silently; there seemed to be nothing to say. And then footsteps came across the veranda and stopped at the door, the bell rang sharply.

"It must be the police." Richard spoke rapidly, "Take Mary Jane upstairs, Miriam, she's been through enough today, and stay there yourself unless I call you. Will you do that?"

The bell was ringing more insistently now. "Yes, of course, darling. Anything you say," said Miriam. "Come with me, Janie."

Mary Jane followed Miriam across the hall and lifting her heavy lame skirt started up the stairs. Park followed them, to the bottom step, corking the bottle of brandy and practically throwing it into Miriam's arms.

"Here, you might need this. Now hurry!"


	15. Chapter 15

**XV**

The clock of the house struck eleven in an uneven harmonious chord. I was unreal, even fantastic, the need for haste, faster, faster, ever faster. Mary Jane stumbled once on a dragging fold of her long skirt. She pulled it up higher and kept right on. When they had reached the top of the stairs, Miriam pulled her back into the protecting shadows of a doorway and then they listened.

It was the police, the state police this time. The uniformed trooper spoke in low tones to Richard for a long time. Miriam took Mary Jane's hand and led her down the hall to her room.

"Now we can talk," she said, running a hand through her shining brown hair. She exclaimed suddenly, "Why Janie! Your skirt is soaked. You must take that dress off at once and get into something warm!"

Mary Jane looked down at the pale blue lame skirt, "I fell into a snow bank," she said truthfully, "Wait a second until I change."

She went over to the closet, pulled the long dress over her head and thrust her arms into the sleeves of her white woolen dressing gown. She smoothed down her hair and returned to Miriam who was smoking in one of the chintz chairs by the small white fireplace. She sat down in the twin chair and folded her hands on her lap, waiting for Miriam to speak.

Miriam smiled at her, "You know I'm all mixed up. It's all so incredulous somehow." She shook her beautiful head slowly, and looked into the fire. After a moment she stood up. "I'm going to bed. Good-night, darling, see you in the morning." She started to turn away when her eyes fell on the bottle of brandy sitting on the floor beside her chair where she had placed it.

"Will you want this?"

Mary Jane shook her head.

Miriam bent and picked up the bottle, "Well, I do." She declared bluntly. "Good night," she said again.

She crossed the room to the door and was gone. Mary Jane sat quietly where she was for a moment and then she locked the door and finished undressing before getting into bed. She was expecting to lie awake all night when she felt herself growing sleepier. I t was funny; she thought drowsily, how the physical needs of the body sometimes overruled the dictates of the mind. She fell asleep then, a deep dreamless slumber.

It was early when she awoke; the clock on the night table beside her told her that it was eight o'clock. For a moment she was puzzled why this should be an important day. And then she remembered. The inquest was being held this morning.

She threw back the bed covers and reached for her dressing gown. Somehow, in an unexplainable way, she felt that she would miss nothing that might happen. She showered and dressed in simple black with a deep oval neckline and a wide Queen Anne collar of white suede.

The upper and lower halls were deserted when she went downstairs. She stopped by the front door and looked down at the dull blood stain on the beige rug; a wide irregular circle of chalk had been drawn around it by a policeman the day before. The spot still told of murder and death.

She turned away and went down the hall.

Gene looked out of the library door, "Hello," he said, "I thought I heard someone coming down the stairs, but I couldn't imagine who it was at this ungodly hour."

"Surprise, surprise, she answered flippantly, "May I ask what you're doing here, at this ungodly hour?"

"As the old saying goes, 'the early bird catches the worm'."

"And what worm are you after this morning?"

He grinned at her, "Sharp as a tack today, aren't you?"

"I'm doing all right," she said pertly, "How's chances of having breakfast now? I've suddenly realized that I'm famished."

He looked at his watch. "Adelaide should be here by now. Let's go and see."

They walked down the hall and peeped into the kitchen. Adelaide dressed in a crisp white uniform was sitting at a small table making out her grocery list. Already the aroma of boiling coffee filled the room.

"Hi," said Gene.

Adelaide looked up surprised, "Why Mr. Gene and Miss Lansing too. I didn't expect anybody so early."

"Well, you've got us on your hands this morning," Gene laughed, "Is it worth a breakfast to get rid of us?"

Adelaide waved his last remark aside, "You and your jokes, Mr. Gene," she scoffed. "I'll fix something right away." Where do you want me to serve it?"

"The library will be fine, don't you think, Mary Jane?"

Mary Jane nodded; together they walked back to the pleasant little room in question.

"Richard said that you were coming over last night," she said when they were seated, "Did you?"

He nodded, "Rich told me that he had sent you to bed, which was a good idea. You didn't miss much," He leaned forward, "It's pretty official now that it was an accident. It was so very slippery that it would have been easy to slide and lose her balance and fall against the rock. Do you think it was an accident?"

Startled by the sudden question, she thought for a moment, "I really don't know, Gene. I suppose it's what I want to believe. What about you?"

"I think it was murder," he replied bluntly.

She looked at him with mounting apprehension, "What do you know? You must suspect something… or is it somebody?"

He burst out suddenly, "Good God, Mary Jane, I think it was Norma."

"Norma?"

"Yes," he looked miserable, "You've seen what a terrible temper she has. If she did it she probably didn't realize what she was doing until it was too late."

"What about Amy Stanton's murder?"

"I don't know about that. I don't think that she had anything to do with it."

"Then why do you think she killed Eloise?"

"I found this hanging on a bush near the body," he hand went into his pocket, "I'm thankful I saw it before the police did."

He put something into her hand. She looked down at it. It was a red chiffon handkerchief.

"Are you sure it's Norma's?"

He looked impatient, "Of course I'm sure. Who else would carry a red handkerchief? You must have noticed by now that everything she wears is red. She has a mania for the color."

Mary Jane looked down at the handkerchief again, she was thinking of the sullen Norma who had come to her room the night before warning her to keep away from Gene, threatening her; this was the Norma seething with that fiery rage who had put out her hands vindictively and pushed Eloise Thompson against a rock to her death.

A woman like Norma Turner would need no motive for murder.

She handed him the handkerchief, "What are you going to do with it?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. Burn it maybe…."

He broke off as Adelaide came to the door carrying a well stocked breakfast tray. After she had set it down on the mahogany coffee table, she left and Gene said, "Did I tell you they found a cigarette near the body about where I found the handkerchief? Anyone could have thrown it away of course. It was a well known brand. Could have come from any place in the house," he paused, "There were no lipstick stains on it."

They ate their breakfast then. Gene said once, "Look, Mary Jane, you'll keep still about what I told you, won't you?"

"I suppose I will," she said wearily. She could not fight him, she thought hopelessly, she had tried to fight Miriam the day before and it had been useless.

They finished eating in silence.

Gene folded his napkin and laid it on the tray; he said, "The rest of the household should be down soon. Did you know Kelly wants to see us all at the inquest?"

"No, I didn't know. Why?"

"We'll know soon enough," he predicted grimly; picked up the tray, he rose and said, "I'll take this back to the kitchen."

He left the room; alone now, Mary Jane rose and went to the small window situated between the desk and the fireplace, overlooking a wide and majestic sweep of lawn, the sun shone down on the snow covered landscape, outside with a brilliance that was dazzling to see. It looked so peaceful; it seemed incredible to Mary Jane that within the walls of old, time tested Park Louise, suspicion, fear and murder reigned supreme.

"Hello," she said, "I stopped at your room, but since you weren't there so I thought I'd find you down here."

Miriam came in and sat down and lit a cigarette. She was dressed in a trim amber colored suit, its narrow collar and cuffs edged into leopard.

"How did you sleep?" she asked.

"Wonderfully."

"So did I." she smiled like the Miriam of old, "I had no idea that brandy was so potent."

"Hello, girls," said Paul from the doorway.

"Hi," said Miriam without turning.

"I'm bound for some breakfast," said Paul, "Would you two care to honor me at the most auspicious occasion with your presence?"

"I'll think about it," said Miriam languidly, but she rose nevertheless, smoothing down the jacket of her amber colored suit, "Coming, Janie?"

"I've had breakfast," Mary Jane replied.

"Well, you lucky, lucky girl you," laughed Paul, drawing Miriam's arm through his own, "Come, my love, let's go hunting for some tasty morsels. Ah, lovely food; whoever invented the art of eating, certainly had the right idea," he declared melodramatically, complete with flourishes.

"Oh, Paul, you idiot," Miriam laughed.

"Excuse us, Mary Jane," said Paul maneuvering Miriam toward the door, "The call of the stomach, you know. And, Miriam, dear, really I must teach you some better manners. Idiot indeed. Hah!" His gay voice echoed down the hall.

Mary Jane sat down again, and deep in her thoughts, she was still there when the household began to assemble for the interview with Kelly.

Ruth and Harold arrived promptly at the stroke of nine thirty.

"Kelly and his little gathering," Harold grumbled good-naturedly, "If we hadn't had to get here so early, I could have slept another fifteen minutes at least." He laughed and lit a cigarette.

"We're all in the same boat, chum," declared Paul. He sat on the sofa beside Dane who looked rested and alert in a freshly pressed grey suit. He looked her way then meeting her glance and she dropped her eyes hastily, embarrassed at the thought of her outburst the night before. And then she felt a sudden surge of panic as from his seat by the window, Richard announced that already the reporters were ready for the starting to assemble outside, ready for the inquest and as Paul put irominously, the kill.

Miriam laughed without amusement, "Down went the Parkers to the top of the scandal sheet."

Richard looked at her coolly, "Don't be flippant. Our first concern is to solve a murder, not have our faces," That served to sober them all for a few moments until a babble of small talk broke out again.

Everyone was there now except Norma who came in late, almost immediately after Kelly had arrived. She sat down in the corner and folded her hands on her lap, looking deceptively demure, but very lonely in her red velvet dress with its wide ballerina skirt, her dark hair tied behind her ears with a red velvet ribbon. Seized by a sudden feeling of disgust, Mary Jane turned away,

Kelly started inauspiciously by clearing his throat. Almost immediately the low buzz of conversation stopped as instantly as if someone had turned off an annoying record and a tense silence, fell over the room.

"Since yesterday," Kelly began, "we've learned quite a few things about Amy Stanton's past. These things will have to be brought out at the inquest, of course, and I think all of you have a right to be prepared for it, beforehand," he shifted his position on his chair, "What we've learned is this: Amy Stanton was born about forty-five years ago in Newport, Rhode Island. Her mother died in childbirth. Her father was a rich insurance executive and for years his daughter remained his sole interest in life. As far as we've name. Sulky and restless, John Carr followed him to the stand stubbornly declaring he knew nothing of Amy Stanton's reasons for coming to Kingston."

Then Miriam was questioned. Calmly she told of finding Amy Stanton's body in the hallway. Just as calmly she walked down from the witness stand back to her chair. Watching her, Mary Jane felt some measure of relief and was almost undisturbed as she began her testimony. They did not keep her long and soon the dreaded ordeal was over.

In the end, however, he did not keep them long. In some fifteen minutes, quietly and methodically he went about checking their whereabouts of the night before Eloise Thompson had met her death. Mary Jane did not look at Gene, but every now and then she knew he glanced her way, realizing that she was thinking the same thing as he: were the police so sure that Eloise's death had been accidental after all.

And then Kelly rose from his chair, "Thank you for your co-operation. We'll start the inquest at once."

Walking hurriedly, he left the room, leaving them to rise and file silently after him, down the hall past the back stairs to the double back parlors where the inquest was being held. The French doors between the rooms had been thrown open and back at constant intervals. And neat rows of chairs had been set up facing the farther room. They threaded their way along slowly passing in and out among the assembled reporters and photographers, who had been admitted into the house by the outside entrance to the Green Room. There were a few other people too, town dignitaries who stiffly sat on their chairs. Pompous and righteous although they unbend swiftly as Park, turning on every ounce of his charm, talked with them pleasantly. The rest of the Parkers with Mary Jane and Paul sat in the front row, a tight invulnerable knot, presenting a solid front to the somehow hostile world represented now in the form of Dr. Baldwin, the coroner, who sat at a small table in front of them, and the jury of six, who having been duly selected ahead of time, had also been seated near-by.

Nervous and uneasy, Mary Jane clasped her hands tightly in her lap to keep them from shaking. As at last the hearing began, she made a final unsuccessful attempt to calm herself and then listened half fearfully to the proceedings, smothering any impulse to put her fingers to her tears.

Dr. Baldwin spoke first hurrying over the opening remarks as to the nature of the inquest. The report of the autopsy came next. The medical examiner, a tall serious looking man, read his findings from the sheaf of white pages stapled together which he held before him. The body had been one of a woman, judged to have been somewhere in her early forties. Her internal organs had been sound and it was more than likely that she had had a child. Identified as a Mrs. Amy Stanton, the deceased had been a blonde, in good health from all indications. She had eaten her last meal about five hours before her death. The bullet which had entered her back and lodged in her heart had been fired from a thirty-two caliber gun. Death had resulted immediately.

There was a momentary pause and then Dr. Baldwin called Richard Parker to the witness stand. The questions and answers that followed dealt mainly with a discussion of the blown-out fuse. Towards the end of Richard's testimony, Dr. Baldwin leaned toward him and asked tensely, "Could the fuse have been tampered with on purpose, Mr. Parker?"

"I see… Then in your opinion, it was just a coincidence." Richard's brow furled, "Yes, it's hard to say for certain. It's possible I suppose, but hardly probable. In the first place, it's very rarely that anyone has occasion to go to the section of the basement where the fuse box is, and anyhow no one could just find it. They would have to know exactly where it is. I don't believe that even my father would know how to get to it."

"I understand that you have a collection of guns here in the house, Mr. Parker. Is that correct?"

"Yes, it is. But the only thirty-two caliber we have has not been fired recently. Chief Kelly was there when I checked it."

"Yes, we have his statement also. Now, one more question, Mr. Parker. How could Mrs. Stanton have gotten into the house?"

"The front door was unlocked. She had only to walk in."

The medical examiner looked up from his papers after that and with a nod, Dr. Baldwin excused him.

There was a pause and then the railroad hand who had directed Amy Stanton to the hotel was the next witness. He was followed by the desk clerk at the Stephens Hotel who testified that Amy Stanton had registered under an assumed name, he added hastily that at least it was not the one by which she had been identified. Sulky and restless, John Carr took the stand to declare stubbornly that he knew none of Amy Stanton's reasons for coming to Kingston. Phyllis Harvey stated that she had talked to Amy Stanton the afternoon before her death and had directed her to South Auburn Drive.

Miriam testified next calmly telling of finding Amy Stanton's body in the hall reception.

"What did you do then Mrs. Parker?"

"I'm afraid I lost my head, I started screaming and the others ran into the hall."

"Then--"

"My husband came upstairs from the basement and called the police a few minutes later."

"Thank you Mrs. Parker. That will be all."

Mary Jane was called to the stand, then was asked only a few routine questions and was dismissed. Chief Kelly came next; taking the oath, and proceeding quietly as always he told of Richard Parker's telephone call to the police station and of finding the body in the front hall where Mrs. Parker had discovered it. Later that night and the next morning, his men had searched the house and grounds for the missing murder weapon but they had found nothing.

Here he paused while pictures of the body, taken before it had been removed from the house, were passed among the jury at the same time and a nod from Dr. Baldwin, a uniformed policeman wheeled in a small table covered by a sheet under which lay the clothing Amy Stanton had worn. This too was shown to the six men and women who regarded the exhibits solemnly.

"Now Chief Kelly," said Dr. Baldwin, "Has your department found any clues to determine why the deceased had come to Park Louise?"

The chief cleared his throat, "None yet although with the help of police departments all over the country, we have unearthed a few clues concerning Mrs. Stanton's past life.

"Of course. According to our reports, Mrs. Stanton was born forty-five years ago in Newport, Rhode Island. Her father was a wealthy industrialist. Her mother died when Mrs. Stanton was born. Several years later, her father married again and afterwards in a period of a few years, two children were born. Amy herself was a wild, irresponsible girl. When she was nineteen, she became infatuated with a young waiter who worked at one of the Newport hotels, George Stanton. Her father and stepmother disapproved strongly of the match, her father threatened to disown her, but Amy and George eloped and went away to California. About a year and a half later, he was killed in an automobile accident a few months before their child, a girl, was born. The mother put the baby up for adoption. After everything was settled, she went to the Orient and lived there for a few years. Then she returned to the States and lived in Seattle, Washington, until she moved to New York a year ago. That is all except for one thing; Amy Stanton's maiden name was Richardson."


	16. Chapter 16

**XVI**

It seemed to Mary Jane in that very instant a thousand flash bulbs exploded behind her. It was as though Kelly's words had thrown a bomb into the room galvanizing the photographers into action. It was fully a minute before it occurred to her to look at Ruth who was beside her. It was then that she got another shock; she stared at Ruth's face, fascinated by the horror registered there; horror and disbelief, as though she couldn't believe what she had heard, couldn't believe that her secret, the secret she had jealously guarded, had at last been brought out into the open.

The buzz of conversation, like the hum of a swarm of angry hornets, faded instantly at the sharp thump of a gavel. Chief Kelly stepped down from the witness chair and Dr. Baldwin called Gene to the stand. The tall blond man rose and walked the small intervening space, his back erect, head up. He looked serious and not a little disturbed but when he started to speak, the only sign of emotion was a certain flatness that crept into his voice.

"Mr. Richardson," said Dr. Baldwin, his voice ringing through the tense air of the impromptu courtroom, "Is it true that Mrs. Amy Stanton was your sister?"

"Half-sister, yes."

"Do you realize that you could have saved yourself a great deal of embarrassment if you had told this to the police in the first place, Mr. Richardson?"

"I—realize that. I knew they would find out sooner or later, but my sister begged me not to say anything. She thought that we could keep it a secret indefinitely."

"Didn't that request strike you as being odd, Mr. Richardson, in view of the circumstances? This is not a trial of course, merely an inquest, but if you know anything at all that could help us---"

Gene took a deep breath, "No, my sister's request did not strike me as odd. I know that she was frightened; we all were. It was a great shock; she wished to keep out of it as much as possible. I could understand that, and I'm sure that I don't see how it could have made much difference if Amy Stanton was our half-sister. She left home before either of us was hardly old enough to remember her; we had never seen or heard from since. She was scarcely ever mentioned at our home."

"Yet you knew her when you saw her?"

"Oh, yes. We had a large, life sized oil painting of her at home. My sister and I grew up seeing it every day. And then she hadn't changed so very drastically. But I have no idea why she should have come to Kingston. If it was to see my sister or myself we knew nothing of it."

Ruth was the next witness. Her face ashy, answered Dr. Baldwin's questions kind yet probing, haltingly trying desperately to control her shaking voice, realizing that he was doing her best to make the dreadful ordeal easier for her.

She was excused after a few minutes and the coroner wound up the inquest with a few, brief closing sentences. It would have been impossible for Amy Stanton to shoot herself in the back and then throw away the gun. Also if she had meant to take her own life, she hardly would have attempted it in the darkened hallway of the Parker's home. But the evidence was in; it was now up to the jury to bring in its verdict. Dr. Baldwin sat down as the decision was announced in barely five minutes by six self satisfied men and women who had done their job, murder by a person or persons unknown.

The Parkers arose to face a barrage of flashbulbs as reporters and photographers paused a moment for last minute details before dashing away to phone in stories and develop pictures ahead of their deadlines.

Mary Jane and Paul lingered behind and by the time they emerged into the hall, the others had already disappeared. Ahead of them two photographers lounged along with apparent carefree abandon of time, one telling the other a particularly dull joke. After the story was finished, while the teller put his head back and roared with laughter, the listener merely looked bored.

"Hm," said Paul under his breath, "Warped sense of humor."

Mary Jane swallowed a hysterical giggle and said hastily, "Where do you think the others are?"

"I don't know, but I'll bet a nickel they've all found a drink someplace."

They passed the back stairs just as Richard opened the study door and out into the hall.

"There you are, Paul. I was just going to look for you. Hi, Mary Jane. Do you mind if I borrow the old boy for a little while?"

Mary Jane gave him a bright smile, "Of course I mind," she said almost gaily, "But I don't think there's anything I can do about it. I think I'll hunt up your wife, Richard, and then drown my sorrows in a glass of water."

"A good idea. About hunting up Miriam I mean. I think she's in the music room."

"Be sure it's just water Mary Jane," Paul added, teasing her.

Mary Jane assured him that it would be, she waited until he had followed Richard into the study and had closed the door and then she went across the hall and looked in at the music room.

Miriam was sitting in front of the bar, perched on one of the gray cushioned stools and playing solitaire. Mary Jane went closer, hoisted herself onto an adjacent stool, and watched the game silently.

"Put the red five on the black six, Miriam," she said once.

Park came into the room, nodded to them and going behind the bar and selected a tall red glass from one of the numerous glass shelves built into the wall that circled around in back of him. He uncorked a bottle of bourbon, pored some of the liquid into the glass, and then set the bottle down squarely before him on the top of the bar.

He glanced at the game of cards. "Do you like playing solitaire?"

Miriam shrugged, "Not particularly. But at least you've saved from your partners dirty looks." Her eyes wandered to the glass seemingly surprised and she raised her carefully arched eyebrows, "Before lunch?"

"Before lunch." He said flatly.

"Well, now I have seen everything."

Park reached for the soda. "Yes, my dear, I've seen everything, too," his thin, aristocratically molded face took on a stiff, half-guarded expression, "I've seen my family name plastered in headlines all over the country; this morning I've heard my family accused, very subtlety of course, of practically everything in the book, and now I need the pre-lunch cocktail that I'm taking for the first time in my life."

Miriam bowed her head, looking down at the cards she held lightly clutched in her hands. "I'm sorry, Park, I shouldn't have said that."

Park touched her shoulder. "Nonsense. You have nothing to be sorry about. I'm just a cynical old man, I'm afraid… Black eight on the red nine Miriam."

"What? Oh, thank you."

She played silent for a few minutes and then with a resigned sigh, she swept all the cards into a jagged pile in front of her. "I never have been able to win that game," she said truthfully.

She pulled over a square silver box its four sides decorated by eight raised bronze figures and offered a cigarette to Mary Jane.

"I think I ought to see about lunch," Miriam said. "Adelaide should have it ready by now. It's going to be buffet style. Very informal. Everybody can eat when he or she feels like it." Her lovely face clouded for a moment, "I was expecting Harold and Ruth to stay, but she was so upset he took her home. I did manage to persuade Gene to have lunch here though." She slid down from the stool. "Excuse me."

Admiringly, Mary Jane watched her cross the room walking with her own peculiar liquid grace; as she emerged into the hall, the study door opened as Richard and Paul joined her.

"Lunch?" Mary Jane heard Paul say, "Not a bad idea."

"Good," Miriam smiled, "Come along."

Park turned to Mary Jane. "Shall we join them?"

She smiled and nodded, "Yes, of course."

They walked down the hall, past the main staircase to where the tempting buffet lunch had been laid out on the mahogany dining room table. Not at all hungry, Mary Jane selected a sandwich and a light gelatin salad, and feeling that she wanted to be alone, took the food on a small tray across the hall to the drawing room. She set her tray down on the coffee table and sighed with relief. The beautiful, gracious room seemed wonderfully aloof and remote from the rest of the house.

But she was not alone after all. Across the room Dane Lambert looked up from his tray and smiled at her, "Hello."

Startled, she jumped nervously, "Oh, I didn't see you."

"I'm sorry I frightened you. I seem to have the knack for doing that."

"I'm the one who should be sorry. Bursting in here like this. You probably want to be alone. I'll go some other place." She started to pick up her tray.

"No, please don't go," he said hastily, "I was just hoping I'd have some company without someone to talk to." He smiled pleasantly, "I really hate to eat alone."

"Well, if you're sure you want me to stay---"

"I'm sure." He made room for her tray beside his own on a small mahogany table. "You know," he said as she sat down in the chair opposite his, "This is the first time I've ever been in this room. It's really lovely, isn't it?"

Mary Jane looked around her and nodded, "Yes it is beautiful."

Idly, she glanced out of the window, "It is wonderful to see the sun shining!"

Dane nodded, "Yes, but it's still too cold for my blood. I'd like to be in California right now. That's my old home state you know."

"I was born in California," Mary Jane said, "I'm pretty partial to it myself. I think just about everyone who ever been there like it. Ruth was telling me just yesterday how much Harold enjoyed it when he was there. He was coming home from an around the world trip." She stopped, sampling her gelatin hastily. Somehow she was not in the mood for meaningless small talk.

Dane regarded her silently for a moment, and then leaning over, put his hand on her arm. Surprised, she started to jerk it away, but his touch was so impersonal, she resisted the impulse and sat very quietly, watching his keen, intelligent face at what was certainly enough a strangest time and place and started herself by thinking how much she like his special brand of attractiveness.

He said at last, "Miss Lansing, you're very emotional aren't you?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Look at how tense you are. You're so tied up in knots you're having difficulty eating. You can hardly swallow."

"I'm not hungry."

"But that's not the only reason is it?"

She regarded him suspiciously, "How do you know all this?"

He laughed a little self-consciously. "I'm not going to say I'm a world famous psychologist, but I did take a course in psychology at UCLA when I was going to school there. You'd be surprised how it can help you in your dealings with people if you can spot their type. It's become invaluable to me in my work." He released her arm and leaned back in his chair.

"Then I take it you've spotted my type already."

"No more so than I told before. You're highly emotional."

She took a bite of her sandwich and laid it back on her plate. "I suppose that if this is all true you have to be careful to handle me and my emotions with kid gloves."

"Not necessarily."

"Why are you telling me all this?" she asked curiously.

"Because I think that if you realize these things it will help you to overcome them. I think that part of your trouble is that you haven't learned to relax."

"And how do I go about learning to relax?" she said lightly, although she was beginning to grow interested in what he was telling her.

"Lesson number one," he said carefully. "Lean back in your chair and let all your muscles go limp." He brought his chair closer to hers, "That's it. Just let yourself go. Now then, concentrate on what I'm saying. Something is troubling you, isn't it, Mary Jane?"

When he spoke again, his voice sounded slightly encouraged as though he had read her thoughts. She turned her head and looked up at him, studying his face intently, but she could read nothing there, and with a feeling she could not analyze, she wished almost desperately that she could fathom the depths of his clear grey eyes.

"I could think that this is another attempt to get a confession out of me." She said slowly.

"Yes, you could. But it isn't. Believe me. I'll bet I can even guess at part of what's bothering you. A short time ago your world was shattered so badly that it was impossible for you to pick up the pieces of your life and go on. Then Miriam Parker came along with an offer that meant security again. You clung to that desperately, didn't you, almost as a drowning person clutches at a piece of wood. You came to Kingston ready to start afresh, a new life; you told me that on the train remember? And then the very night you came, your new world, hardly begun, was shattered again, perhaps this time even worse than before. Am I right, Mary Jane?"

"Yes," she nodded her head wearily and before she even realized it, tears began to slide down her cheeks, "Oh, Dane I'm so frightened."

"Yes, of course, you're frightened. A murder isn't very pleasant to think about. But you have no reason to worry. You haven't done anything. You didn't kill her, and when the real murderer is found, you'll be able to start that new life."

She looked up at him, the tears shining in her eyes, "But suppose---suppose Miriam killed her?"

"Miriam?" His grey eyes clouded with thought, "What makes you think that she might have?" She though startlingly and guiltily of the gun that had been in Miriam's possession and still might be for all she knew. Mary Jane's heart thumping so wildly she was sure he must know it. She decided instantly that she could not tell him about it for she had revealed too much already.

"Nothing really," she answered belatedly. "But that same thought seems to haunt me all the time."

"Now I see. You're afraid that Miriam is the murderer and then without her help you'll have no chance to start your life over again."

She nodded, "Yes, yes that's it."

"But don't you see, there's a good chance that Miriam isn't the murderer and you're worrying yourself sick for no reason at all. And as for yourself I'm sure that you had nothing to do with Amy Stanton's death."

She wiped away her tears a little and smiled tremulously at him, "Thank you, Dane."

"Thanks for what?"

"For believing in me. That helps you know."

"Do you feel better now?"

"Yes, much better, but I have a sneaking suspicion that my nose is dreadfully shiny and my eyes are red and that I'd better do something about it right away. You'll excuse me?"

"Will I see you later?"

"Yes, of course." She rose, picked up her tray, smiled at him again and started to leave the room.

But at the door, she stopped, hesitated and turned to face him, "Dane, I'm dreadfully sorry about last night, about slapping you, I mean. I didn't realize what I was doing or I never. Do you forgive me?"

"You're forgiven and everything is forgotten, all right?"

"All right," she said happily. She turned and walked across the hall and into the dining room, her steps light and buoyant, deposited her tray on a small table and was about to leave the room when Miriam came through the other door heading from the kitchen.

"Hello," she said smiling in her enchanting way, "I was wondering where you were, Janie."

"I was talking with Dane. But now I'm going upstairs to powder my nose."

"Which gives me an idea along the same lines," Miriam laughed, "But don't go upstairs. Come into the powder room. You've never seen it have you?"

"No."

"Well, come along. It was my own pet project and I'm awfully proud of it. I have some spare powder that you can use."

Mary Jane followed her down the hall to a large room one door beyond the study. Miriam's 'pet project' was done in blue-gray and chromium, a heavenly make-up table extending around two of the walls, and a variety of different length mirrors reflecting the soft muted colors of the simple, striking appointments.

"Miriam, its lovely, really charming," Mary Jane said sincerely; she went to the door of the adjoining coral and ivory lavatory and looked in.

"Well, you know, I redecorated the rest of the house keeping the colonial spirit in mind, but yet in this room, I show all my ultra-modern ideas."

Miriam drew out a small alligator case, sat down at the make-up table and opened a deep drawer. Inside were at least six different shades of face powder, some of the boxes still unopened.

"Take whatever you want," Miriam said to Mary Jane, "We're equipped for all emergencies. You'd be surprised how many women will come to a party and forget their compacts."

Mary Jane selected a shade that she liked particularly well and started to break the seal on the box.

"Janie," Miriam began slowly after a moments silence, "I told Paul about the gun."

Mary Jane looked up quickly, "Was he angry?"

"No, worried. He frightened me. He said that none of us were safe. Oh, I wish all of this ugly business was over and done with."

"We're all on edge today," Mary Jane said slowly, "After the inquest; it's no wonder considering that none of us ever dreamed that Amy Stanton would turn out to be Ruth and Gene's half-sister."

"Poor Ruth," Miriam sighed, "No wonder she's been acting so strangely."

Even as they sat there talking, in the hallway outside, Dane Lambert was meeting his uncle at the front door and a few moments later, the two men had closed themselves into the library.

"News, Dane boy," Kelly said sitting down and taking out a pipe, "Although when I stop to think about it, I'm not so sure I should tell you seeing that you're in the pay of opposition."

"Come now, Uncle Art," Dane smiled, "The only reason I took the case was because I hoped we'd be working together. After all it was the influence of seeing you at work here in Kingston that made me decide to come connected with the business myself."

"And you're a good detective at that," Kelly responded, "But I'm not so sure your father and mother are in sympathy with the work you took up. And sometimes I wonder if they don't blame me a little for putting ideas in your head."

"Dane thought for a moment, "Oh, I don't think so Uncle Art and they really don't object to my work because they know I'm doing what I want and getting a big kick out of it at the same time, but what they don't like is the idea of my staying in New York. They didn't realize as I did that if I started my career in Los Angeles I'd be known as Ralph Lambert's son all my life. Here in the East, I'm really on my own."

"I'm glad you feel that way about it, Dane," the older man patted his nephew's shoulder fondly. "What's the news?" Dane asked at length.

"Barney Jason. The Boston police are going to have him picked up in a few hours for questioning. I'm thinking of going down this afternoon and having a little chat with him. How would you like to come along?"

"I'm game," Dane replied eagerly, "When do we leave?"

"A squad car is going to pick us up here in half an hour, we'll be driven to New York in style from there take a plane at La Guardia Field. That way it won't take long to get into Boston."

"I know. Well, if I'm going with you there are a few things I'd better attend to first."

"Go ahead. I'll wait for you."

Dane rose from his chair, then paused, "Say, Uncle Art, do you have Amy Stanton's address?"

Kelly looked up at him shrewdly, "I suppose you'll find it out some way so I might as well give it to you."

He took a paper from an inside pocket and handed it to Dane who opened the square white sheet and studied it intently. The Seattle address and telephone number and the New York hotel where Amy Stanton had lived were listed. And farther down the sheet, the letter was the name of a small apartment hotel in Los Angeles.

"Is this where Stanton lived after the Orient?" Dane asked quickly.

Kelly inhaled slowly on his pipe before answering, "No, that was before when her husband was living. She gave the same address to the custom officials when she came back to the US, but she didn't go there. It was easy enough to check that. The LA police haven't found the place where she did live as yet, but it probably won't prove to be too important anyway. She only stayed in Los Angeles three months after she returned from the Orient and then she moved to Seattle."

Dane pocketed the paper. "Thanks for the information, Uncle Art. I don't think I'll be very long."

Leaving the room and closing the door behind him, Dane went across the hall to the study and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he opened it and looked in. The room was empty. Closing the door behind him, he went in and perching on the edge of the desk, pulled the telephone toward him. Dialing long distance, he gave the operator a number in Los Angeles, California for her to ring.

It took a while for the call to go through. Dane paced the floor restlessly, smoking an endless chain of cigarettes, finally emptying the cluttered ashtray into a waste paper basket. He was putting the tray back on the desk when the phone rang. He grabbed for it desperately before anyone else in the house would have a chance to answer it.

It was for him. He had to wait a minute before the operator told him that his party was on the wire.

"Hello," Dane said tensely.

The masculine voice that answered him was low and vibrant with a deep sense of relief. Dane told him who was calling and there was an exchange of how are you's before Dane had a chance to state his reason for telephoning.

"Look, Jack, how'd you like to do a little super-snooping for me?"

"Sounds okay. What's the low down?"

Dane toyed swiftly with the idea of talking freely on that phone; he decided not to take a chance. "Listen, Jack, round up a bunch of your boys and treat them to some good steak dinners. They'll need them. I can't talk now. I'll call you later, maybe five or six o'clock my time whenever I get the chance. Stick by your phone."

"Right. I'll wait for the call. It's been good to hear from you, Dane. So long."

Dane hung up and looked down at his watch; they would be leaving any minute now. He hurried out into the hall and found his uncle standing by the front door. He took his coat from the closet and joined the older man. A few minutes later, the squad car drew up in front of the house.

All during the drive to New York and the take off from La Guardia that followed, Dane was silent. The plan that had started in the back of his mind that morning had blossomed and grown. He had not thought out the finer details as yet, but by now he was certain that his basic theory was correct. Somewhere on the west coast, in California or in Seattle, laid the answer to the puzzling riddle of why Amy Stanton had come to Kingston. And if he found that out, he was now more than ever convinced that then he would know the name of her murderer.


	17. Chapter 17

**XVII**

Lieutenant Trenton of Homicide met them at the airport. A tall, tight-lipped, quiet man, he led the way to the waiting police car. Boston was covered with snow that was melting slowly under a driving rain, making muddy rivulets on the streets after some minutes of riding. The car drew up beside a white washed curb, and they alighted before the police station, an imposing gray stone building.

They hurried up the steps and through the revolving doors and into the shadowy corridor beyond, anxious to be out of the rain. A police sergeant on duty there helped them off with their wet coats and hats, and Lt. Trenton led the way down a wide quiet hall to the pleasant office of Captain Raines.

The captain was waiting for them, heavy set and white haired and greeting them with a friendly smile. He and Kelly were old friends from their college football days; Kelly introduced Dane.

When they had been seated in deep, comfortable chairs, Captain Raines said soberly, "I suppose you're anxious to see your man."

"Is he here?" Kelly asked quickly.

"No, not yet, but my boys are picking him up now. They should be back with him in a few minutes."

"Do you think if he knows anything, he'll talk?"

Captain Raines smoothed his white hair back from his forehead. "I don't know Art. I've had a lot of experience with Jason. He's quite a character, crafty, shrewd. Well, more enough to know that you can't even be than sure of what he's going to do. I don't think I can quite explain him. You'll have to see for yourself."

A moment later a police lieutenant brought in a message. Captain Raines read it over slowly and then rose with an apologetic smile, "I'm sorry but I'll have to leave you for a few minutes; but I'll be back by the time Jason arrives. Excuse me, gentlemen."

After the door had closed behind the captain, Kelly turned to Dane, "Sometimes I wonder if I haven't stepped too deep, if this thing won't prove to be too much for a small town police chief to handle."

"Don't be silly, Uncle Art," Dane said, "This is a tough case. You can't solve it overnight. You know that as well as I do. Remember on the plane, you told me that you thought a lot of the answers to this thing lay in Amy Stanton's past. I think you're right. There's a lot of facts we don't know. What about a will? Did she have one?"

Kelly's brow furled, "I don't know. The New York police found her safety deposit box, but there was nothing in it, except some jewelry. I'll check on the will though, if we could find someone who would benefit by her death, someone who might have followed her to Kingston."

Dane nodded soberly; the door opened and Captain Raines hurried in. "He's here. They're bringing him up the stairs behind them now." He sat down suddenly behind his big desk, and they waited tensely and expectantly.

The knock came at last and the door opened to admit a plain clothes man followed by a tall massively built individual dressed in a well cut expensive looking dark suit. He carried a cane and he took off his hat as he came through the open doorway; his white hair was thick and tightly waving.

"Good afternoon, Captain Raines," he spoke in a careful modulated yet rather foreign sounding voice, "This is an unexpected pleasure," he added, the barest suggestion of a smile flitting around his mouth.

"Sit down, Jason," Raines indicated a chair to one side of his desk, "These gentlemen are Chief Kelly and Mr. Lambert. They'd like to ask you a few questions."

Jason sat down carefully and hooked his cane over the arm of the chair. Before he reached into one of his pockets and took from it a magnificently wrought gold cigarette case, a single large diamond blazing from the depth of its center. "By all means, gentlemen," he said at last from answering. Smiling pleasantly and opening the case, "Cigarette?"

Dane accepted one regarding them curiously. They were long, black and silver tipped emitting a strange but delightful aroma.

"Mr. Jason," Kelly began; his voice quiet, his manners and poise confident. "We understand that you knew a Mrs. Amy Stanton, now deceased."

"Ah, yes, I've read the account of her---death in the papers. Very regrettable."

"How long did you know Mrs. Stanton?"

"Only a few months."

"How well did you know her?"

"We were merely casual acquaintances."

"Yet you accompanied her to the reading of Gerald Lansing's will."

"Yes, I accompanied Mrs. Stanton at her request. She was unfamiliar with our Boston streets."

"Any taxi could have taken her to the Lansing home. And surely John Carr would have seen to it that she got there safely."

Jason shrugged with the air of one conceding a point as graciously as possible under the circumstances. "I did not question Mrs. Stanton. I merely did her a courtesy."

"Did you know Gerald Lansing?" Kelly shot out suddenly.

"No."

"When was the last time you saw Mrs. Stanton?"

"About four months ago."

"What was the nature of your meeting?"

"I'm afraid I don't remember that, Chief Kelly. It's been a long time."

"Did you keep in touch with her?"

"No."

"How well do you know John Carr?"

"I met him once, at the Lansing residence before the reading of the will that you mentioned."

"Have you ever been in Kingston?"

Again a smile played around Jason's mouth, "No," he said very clearly.

"Have you any idea why Amy Stanton went to Kingston?"

"Not the slightest."

Kelly looked grim, "All right, Mr. Jason. That will be all."

Barney Jason stood up and smiled regretfully, "I'm sorry I can't be of any help to you, Chief Kelly. I hope you have more success elsewhere. Good day, gentlemen."

After he had gone, Kelly sighed, "I was afraid we wouldn't get anything out of him, but I was hoping there might be a lead."

"I've been following this case in the papers. I'm satisfied that he told us the truth. You've got a tough one on your hands, Art," Raines said musingly; then he smiled; "I'll be through for the day in another hour. How about dinner afterwards?"

"Fine," Kelly said nodding his approval. In the meantime, there are a few things I'd like to check on if I could use your files."

"Go right ahead," Raines urged. "The file room is three doors down the hall on the right hand side. The sergeant on duty there will help you find anything you want. Suppose we meet here in an hour then."

Agreeing to the suggestion, Dane and Kelly left the office. Standing in the corridor outside, Dane said, "Will you excuse me, Uncle Art? I'll see you later."

He turned and went swiftly back down the corridor to a telephone booth he had noticed when passing it less than an hour before it had caught his eye. He wedged himself into the small compartment and carefully pulled the glass door shut behind him. After giving the long distance operator the California number, he fed the instrument in front of him a quantity of coins and then waited growing more impatient every second. After a moment's thought, he telephoned to his office in New York and wasting no words spoke swiftly to a man called Hank.

"Check Amy Stanton's room at the Lane Hotel. The police have probably been there but they might have slipped up on something. And get all the information you can on an actress who was with a USO show overseas about a year ago. Her name is Norma Turner. I'll call you again---say tomorrow night around seven."

"Right, Dane," answered Hank, "I'll be here. So long."

Dane dropped the receiver back into its cradle and waited again. It seemed interminable before his Los Angeles call was put through. But at last he was talking once more to Jack Corrigan, who was not only a personal friend but was also one of the best private detectives on the west coast.

"I'm working on this Stanton murder case," Dane told him without preamble, "Perhaps you've read about it."

"You bet I have. It makes quite a story for the papers to play up."

"Amy Stanton used to live in LA, Jack," Dane continued, "She worked in the Orient for about six years and then she came back home. But after that, until she moved to Seattle a few months later, we've lost the trail. The police are working on it, but I think you could do a better job of it and do it faster, too. What do you say?"

"You came to the right lad, m'boy; I'll start on it right away."

"Swell. By the way, she came back to the States on the ORION eighteen years ago. You can take it from there. But I've been thinking that maybe I ought to run out your way and see what I can do to further things myself."

"Well, Dane, they say that two heads are better than one. It ought to hold true in this case too. I say, why not?"

"I will then if things go smoothly from this end. I'll wire you before I leave. I'm afraid there's nothing else I can tell you that might give you some new angles on the case," he added slowly, paused and then continued in a brisk tone, "I'll hang up now; my time is about up; oh, and Jack---, good luck!"

Dane a moment later rang off and slid out of the booth to find Kelly sitting a few feet away, waiting for him. Kelly smiled, a little grimly, "That was my intention even though the gesture seems to be a little one-sided," He went on before Dane had a chance to interrupt.

"That must have been an important call," he said casually, but his eyes were shrewd and probing. Those sharp brown eyes that had been abruptly trained to miss so little.

"It was," Dane assured him seriously.

"Let's go someplace where we can talk," Kelly said.

"I think there's a reception room down the hall somewhere I passed before. I don't imagine anyone is there this late. How would that be?"

"Fine," Kelly replied, "Let's go."

The two men hunted out the small comfortable room, found it empty and settled themselves in chairs.

"Aren't you a little curious about what I said I wanted to check?" Kelly asked, lighting his pipe.

"Well, yes, now that you mention it, I am. Do you want to tell me about it?"

"As you already know, I went through some files," Kelly said slowly and empathically stressing each word. "And I looked up everything I could find about an Astor family that used to live in Boston. Miriam Parker was an Astor before she married, you know."

"No, I didn't know. What did you find out?"

"And remember this, even if he didn't care, she had no way of knowing ahead of time one way or the other about her background. She may have thought that he would care if he knew. Enough to justify Mrs. Parker in being so secretive about her past, her family was as poor as field mice and that must've been quite a drawback when she married Richard Parker."

Dane shrugged, "Oh, I didn't know being poor is nothing to be ashamed of really. Some of our most famous Americans were born in hovels or log cabins. Besides Richard Parker doesn't particularly strike me as being a snob; I don't think it would matter much to him if his wife had been poor, and definitely non-social set, but if he loves her as much as I think he does."

Then soberly changing the subject, he paused and then added slowly and thoughtfully, "All right," Kelly said amicably, "suppose she did tell him she had been from a poor family," he considered a moment, then added thoughtfully, "The new information, do you imagine she told him that her father unsuccessful, frustrated inventor who turned into a drunkard committed suicide or that her brother died in prison while serving a term for theft? You'd never guess it now but she's certainly taking to the "lady of the manse" routine."

Dane whistled, "Not a very pretty story is it?"

"Yes," Kelly agreed, "At any rate, I'll say this much for Mary Jane Lansing; she isn't a snob and neither was her father from all I've been able to find out. He sent her to public school; that's where she met Mrs. Parker, and he didn't object to his daughter being friendly with the girl. You know of course that he must have been very intimate with Mrs. Stanton if he left all of his money to her instead of Mary Jane. Suppose at one time he was with Amy and happened to mention this girl to his daughter who used to be friends with. And suppose that Stanton decided to trace her brother and sister out of curiosity. If she was looking for someone to fleece, I doubt she could very much pin anything on Ruth Parker that would make her pay off, but she have found out that Richard Parker, her sister's brother-in-law, was married to this same Miriam Astor. I don't think a woman with Amy Stanton's characteristics could pass that by; a wealthy matron and consequently kept silent. At any rate with a questionable background, it would be a rich set-up."

"I see," Dane replied slowly, "Then Amy Stanton might have come to Kingston to see Mrs. Parker, with blackmail in mind of course."

"It's a possibility." Kelly replied gravely.

For a moment both men were silent, each intent on his own thoughts. It was there that Captain Raines found them.

"Well, now, how about that dinner," he asked jovially. "I'm ready if you are."

They went to a quaint old restaurant, famous for its good food. In the mellow atmosphere the three men relaxed, allowing themselves to forget the worries and cares of the day. Afterwards Dane and Kelly boarded a plane that took them back to New York where the squad car and a uniformed policeman were waiting to drive them back to Kingston.

There were entering the outskirts of the small suburban town, when Kelly said, "Stop at my office with me for a few minutes, will you, Dane? I have something I want to show you."

"All right, Uncle Art,"

After a few minutes of riding, their driver deposited them on the walk in front of the police station. Kelly instructed him to wait, and then he and Dane mounted the stone steps and went into the building. In his office, Kelly switched on the lights and brought out Dane recognized to be Eloise Thompson's bright blue coat.

"When I went over the Thompson girl's clothes, I found something that I had missed before," Kelly said, spreading the coat across his desk, "Look at this."

This proved to be a torn spot, big enough for a man to put his hand through. The piece of cloth that had been ripped away was not there.

"It looks like there was a struggle, doesn't it," Dane said, examining the tear carefully.

"Yes it most certainly does, and I've been wondering if, providing we could find it, that missing piece of cloth couldn't tell us a pretty good story of what happened last night."

"Perhaps you're right. Let's go."

They went back outside where they were picked up by the squad car and driven to Park Louise. At the entrance to the estate they left the car and walked up the drive, Kelly's flashlight brightened up their path. They stopped at the spot where Dane and Mary Jane had found Eloise Thompson's body and started their search for a missing piece of blue cloth.

Dane began to make a wide circle, taking out his own small flashlight. The ground was unfamiliar to him and he walked slowly. He flashed his light over the base of a huge century old maple and then for a sudden split second gnarled and bent with age. For a minute he trained his flashlight over the tree itself. It intrigued him thinking of what it could have said if it could talk. His light picked out what to be a hollowed out spot, wood scooped from the center of the maple itself where the long branches were stout but sparse. He went closer curiously looked in the hollow space and found something else, a good sized rock, one portion of it covered with a reddish brown stuff which had dried. Dane knew instantly that it was blood finding that he had not been mistaken. He called quietly, "Uncle Art," but with urgency in his voice that brought Kelly in an instant.

Dane held out the rock for his uncle's inspection, "I think you'd better take this down to the laboratory." He said quietly, "They'll probably be able to prove that is what was like to kill Eloise Thompson."


	18. Chapter 18

**XVIII**

Four o'clock was the nicest time of the day at Park Louise, Miriam told Mary Jane as Jeeves wheeled in the tea table; relaxed and comfortable, Park and Paul nodded languidly, in swift agreement. Jeeves and the table stopped in front of Miriam and whisked off the fine linen napkins covering the well stocked plates. In addition to the huge silver teapot and china cups there were dainty sandwiches tastefully arranged on a large silver tray, and little frosted cakes nestled on very lovely hand-painted china dishes. 

His mission completed, Jeeves left the room and Miriam began to pour; in a few minutes the fragile, paper-thin almost translucent china teacups replaced the tall cocktail glasses they had been holding.

Remembering that she had eaten hardly anything for lunch and that she was desperately hungry, Mary Jane ate a sandwich and took another at Miriam's invitation. They were not very filling but they helped. During the course of the afternoon, she had changed into a simple green wool dress that boasted of a brown leather belt alternately wide and narrow from which at intervals dangled little gold fobs. Remembering Dane's advice, she had tried to relax and had found it almost amazingly simple in the gracious, tranquil atmosphere. 

Miriam stirring her own tea gently was talking about her servant problem, "One of the maids we had left two weeks ago to be married," she explained to Mary Jane, "I thought that we could get along without hiring anyone else to fill her place, but now that Eloise---isn't here we must get someone else. Adelaide and Jeeves are interviewing applicants 

this afternoon. Though why anyone who didn't have to would want to work in this house now is more than I can figure out." She added in her low husky voice strangely wistful.

Mary Jane thought suddenly that Miriam had changed during the last few days. Before she had been the smart, sophisticate; the wealthy young matron who had everything she could possibly want; an adoring husband, a darling little boy, a beautiful home; an enviable place in society. But now it was as though the murder of Amy Stanton had knocked the props of security out from under her and she was a little girl again, alone and unsure of herself.

"Cheerful little creature, isn't she?" Paul saying casually, grinning at Miriam and referring to her last remarks. 

"I think so," Miriam flung back at him gaily.

"Come now, you two," Mary Jane laughed, "All of us can't be so witty at the same time. It's too much work to keep up with each other." 

Paul relaxed in his chair, "The Witty Words of the Day contest is all yours," he told Miriam.

"I'm flattered," she replied solemnly.

"Now that we have that settled," Park said deeply, "Do you realize that we haven't seen even one officer of the law in the last few hours."

"I thought it seemed too peaceful around here," Mary Jane sighed.

"Is that good or bad?" Miriam asked glancing at Paul.

"It all depends," he replied slowly, "It means that the police are either stalemated or else they're busy getting evidence somewhere else. Personally I don't think they have much of anything to go on. They could be operating on the old adage, 'give them enough rope and they'll hang themselves'."

"What a mess," Park said, running a hand over his eyes. 

They talked a few minutes longer and then the little group broke up. "Dinner at seven tonight," Miriam said, "There's a director's meeting at the plant around eight, Richard and Park will have to be there." 

"I'm going to lie down for a while," Mary Jane told her, drawing her aside, "Why don't you do the same? You look tired."

"I am," Miriam admitted, "I'll go upstairs later. Right now I have to see how Adelaide made out with the interviews. Let's not dress for dinner tonight, Janie. It will be rather informal anyway and I'm afraid I'm not in the mood for a long skirt. Is that all right with you?"

It was fine Mary Jane assured her, and the two parted.

Moving slowly, Mary Jane went up the stairs to her room. 

She undressed; conscious of the day had been long and trying with great awareness, lay down across the big canopied bed. In a few minutes she was sound asleep; floating on the pink cloud of a lovely dream, about an hour later she awoke and deeply refreshed went about bathing and dressing. She put on a black faille ballerina skirt, the yards and yards of voluminous natural swirling in folds about her slim body. The blouse 

she wore with it was white jersey with short, tricky little sleeves and a plunging neckline above which her creamy skin glowed softly. She combed her hair back smooth from her face tied it with a wide black velvet ribbon at the nape of her neck. Her shoes were a smart styled black with an ankle strap, the heels extremely high and narrow, lovely but treacherous. She walked down the stairs carefully.

Dinner was as Miriam had said it would be, informal. They ate by candlelight at a table set up in the music room before the green drapes. It was a restful, quiet meal. Afterwards Richard and Park left for their director's meeting, but Paul, Miriam and Mary Jane lingered, loath to leave the charming scene. Paul was drinking black coffee laced liberally with brandy; Miriam sat quietly, very lovely in her black satin dinner suit; Mary Jane was smoking a cigarette.

"You didn't tell me if you found a maid," she said at last breaking the silence that had been companionable instead of awkward.

Miriam turned to her with a quick smile, "Yes, we were extremely lucky. Her name is Faith O'Neil; she used to work for a friend of mine and I know she's a perfect treasure. Adelaide hired another girl too, Sybil Bennett. She hasn't had as much experience as Faith but she'll shape up nicely. And that reminds me, I have to see Adelaide. Excuse me." 

She quickly rose and left the room. Paul leaned across the table and took Mary Jane's hand. 

"How's the world treating you, today?" he asked her softly, half teasingly.

Mary Jane smiled slowly with the intoxication of complete mastery over a situation. "Not too bad, thank you," she replied demurely her dark lashes curling down, veiling her eyes as she let her long slim fingers curl around his shorter blunt ones. The room was very warm and intimate around them when suddenly from the door way someone laughed shattering the almost magical spell. "How touching," said Norma Turner. She came into the room slowly, she was wearing as always a red dress that matched her defiant face, blazing eyes and flaming lips that served as a colorful foil to her dark brown hair and eyes. She looked as vivid and warm as firelight. Mary Jane knew that she had been drinking; Paul released her hand.

"Go ahead and make love to her if you want to," Norma said, "Don't mind me." She went behind the bar, mixed herself a drink, and there held the tall glass up to the light, "To the Parkers," she said mocking, "I hate the Parkers," she added vehemently, "They're so smug, so righteous, so safe, hiding behind their money." She put the glass to her lips, tilted her head back, and drained the amber liquid.

Paul said softly under his breath, "She may hate the Parkers, but she likes their liquor well enough. Let's go." 

Mary Jane nodded; with a quick movement she pushed back her chair and stood up anxious to be gone. Norma watched them leave without comment, then started to make herself another drink. A few minutes later Jeeves came into the room to clear away the remaining dishes and take up the portable table back to the storage closet. When he had left for the last time, Norma, her glass filled, left the bar and sat down on a small green sofa.

She was there when Dane came into the room. "Hello," she said to him.

"Hello, Norma." He went behind the bar and poured himself a drink; then he joined her on the sofa.

"How's the detecting business tonight?" she asked him, "Did you find any more bodies?"

"Oh, we have our ups and downs," Dane replied coolly lighting a cigarette.

"Do you want to know something?"

"What?"

"I'm drunk and I don't care. I don't care about anything."

For a moment he thought she was going to cry, but she controlled herself with an effort and smiled at him brightly.

"You really are in a bad way," he remarked casually, sipping his drink.

She took her dark hair back from her shoulders and leaned toward him. "Do you think Eloise Thompson's death was an accident?"

"Don't you?"

"She laughed softly, "I asked you first. But if you want to know the truth, no, I don't."

"Why not?"

"Kiss me," she said.

For a split second, Dane hesitated. Then deciding to humor her, he bent his head and put against his mouth against hers. Her lips were warm, soft and unresisting beneath his.

He released her in a moment and she looked up at him languidly her lids half closed over her eyes, "That was nice," she told him.

"I'm glad you liked it," he responded gravely, "Now do I get my reward for kissing you?" 

"How do you mean?"

"We were talking about Eloise."

"Oh, yes, Eloise," her eyes clouded for a moment, "All right, if you must know, it was last night. I was walking down the drive to my car. It had just started to snow and I was hurrying to get out of the cold. I came around a bend in the drive and I heard someone running across the lawn. It was too dark for me to see who it was. It looked like a big, dark shadow disappearing among the trees. And then I saw that someone was lying on the ground. I went over. It was Eloise…." She stopped and finished her drink moodily. 

"Then what did you do? Dane prompted.

"I was frightened; I got away as quickly as I could." At her words, Dane's jaw hardened and reaching for an ashtray, he ground his cigarette into it with a vengeance.

Here again was another blind alley, by a stroke of luck in finding the instrument which had killed her. They had established the fact that Eloise had been murdered all right, but what good did it do them? They were still as much in the dark as ever.

Norma handed him her empty glass, "Get me another drink."

"You shouldn't have another one." 

"Just one more."

Dane rose and went to the bar noticing for the first time that on the edge of the sparkling silver chrome perched an embossed gold tray holding the coffee service that Jeeves had left behind him after taking away the table and finding the coffee maker still hot, Dane poured some of the deep brown liquid into a cup and took it to Norma. 

She looked at it mutinously and shook her head.

"Please," he said, smiling winningly.

She took the cup and drank the coffee quickly, choking on it. He gave her some more and this time she took it without protest. To his surprise, it did more than sober her. It made her burst into tears, sobbing as though her heart would break. 

He sat down beside her and put a steadying arm about her waist; she found his shoulder and laid against it. He was trying to comfort her when Mary Jane came to the door. She stiffened, her cheeks flaming a dull red, whispered, "Excuse me," and left quickly.

Dane muttered, "Damn," under his breath without much heat. Norma sat up suddenly and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice, "I didn't mean to go all to pieces like that. It seems I can't do anything without making a little fool of myself. Thank you for being so 

kind and patient. I won't trouble you anymore. She rose quickly and was gone before Dane could stop her.

A few minutes later when Mary Jane looked in again, he was sitting there alone smoking, deeply in thought. She was hesitating whether to speak to him or now when he looked up suddenly and smiled. "Come in," he said.

She came, slowly. "Why did you leave before?" he asked her.

"I thought perhaps three would be a crowd." She answered honestly.

"On the contrary, I would have been glad to have you stay; Norma was hell-bent on doing some hot and heavy vamping."

"It's customary procedure with her," Mary Jane told him dryly, "Are you sure you didn't like it?" she added in a sly voice.

"Maybe I did," he grinned, then changed the subject abruptly, "Let's go for a walk. It's a beautiful night, besides I want to talk to you, someplace where the walls don't have ears. I'll get our coats. Is yours in the downstairs closet?" "Do you know which one it is?"

"I think so. If I have any trouble I'll just whistle," he told her, laughing.

And at Mary Jane's consenting nod, he added, "Yes I brought it down this afternoon."

He left the room returning in a very few minutes with their coats over his arm. He helped her on with her mink and surprised she realized that the gardenia corsage Mr. Greentree had given her was still pinned to it, quite dead now.

She took it off and twirled it around in her fingers while Dane reached for the cord that opened the green drapes. He unlocked the French windows; they stepped out onto the brick terrace beyond.

The night was clear and pleasant. In two more weeks it would be officially Spring. Mary Jane realized with a sudden upswing feeling of light heartedness. Perhaps with the change of seasons her luck would change too. She had never lived through a longer or more disastrous winter.

Dane lit two cigarettes and handed her one. He looked down at the corsage she still held. "Gardenias weren't they?" he asked.

Mary Jane nodded.

"Gardenias don't suit you," he said slowly, "They're too harsh, too stiff for you. You should have something like—camellias, soft, pink and very, very lovely…" He stopped suddenly; she looked up at him questioningly, "I'm beginning to sound poetic," he laughed, "I'm afraid that doesn't suit a hardboiled detective." 

"Are you hardboiled, Dane?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know," she answered truthfully, "Sometimes I think you are, and other times you can be----very sweet." 

They were both silent for a few minutes, smoking, the ends of their cigarettes making tiny glowing pin-points of light in the darkness. Absently Mary Jane laid the wilted corsage on the wide stone railing that enclosed the terrace partially.

"What did you want to tell me, Dane?" she asked at last.

"I may have to go away for a few days, Mary Jane."

"Go away?" she cried sharply, "Where?"

"First rule in the detective's manual," Dane said teasingly, "Don't give away trade secrets."

"I'm sorry," she said in sudden confusion, "I didn't think that you wouldn't want to tell me." He put his hands on her shoulders and suddenly he was very serious and grim.

"I do want to tell you, Mary Jane, but its better that I don't, believe me. While of course I'm gone, I want you to promise me that you'll keep your pretty chin up and above all be careful. I don't want to frighten you but two women have been too careless already." 

She looked up at him, startled, her eyes widening, "Two women?"

"Yes," he said shortly, "We have reason to believe that Eloise was murdered too." 

"Oh, how awful," she murmured appropriately. But it was no great shock she was remembering the red handkerchief that Gene had showed hers only that morning.

"Now do you promise?" Dane was asking, his voice low and urgent. 

"Yes I promise, Dane."

"Good." Still gripping her shoulder. He looked down at her for a long time and then he said slowly, "Last night after I kissed you, you slapped me." Would you do the same tonight?" 

She smiled a little and she lifted her face, "Perhaps I don't know myself. Why don't you try it and find out?"

He reached out for her then and drew her to him, holding her tightly and put his mouth against hers and kissed her hard almost as if he was suddenly aware of her nearness, he dropped his hands releasing her. Mary Jane clung to him returning his kiss with all the fire in her. After a long moment he lifted his head and she buried her face in his shoulder. He laid his cheek against her hair; it was smooth and soft to the touch as he caressed it lightly with his lips. Then he put his hand under his chin and raised her face to his. He kissed her again...

It was the most natural thing in the world that she should be in his arms, that he should when at last he suddenly released her, she swayed a little dizzily and murmured, "Give me air," and leaned back against one of the stone pillars that supported the roof of the terrace shutting out the night that softly enveloped them and the great house lordly and grand, towering above, master of all it surveyed. A soft wind rustling through the trees was a thousand voices singing among the mellow time-washed old bricks. The lighted windows glittering against the soft darkness, were a thousand ghostly eyes watching them with the souls of the countless other lovers who had stood thus embraced so strongly aware, and lost in the wonder of the sudden motion which had gripped her too strongly. She smiled at him impishly, "Aren't you glad my lipstick is indelible. You would certainly be smeared."

"I like that sort of smearing," he grinned and took her arm, "Let's walk." 

They went along the paths that had been cleared of snow, past in front of the house and around the other side. At the foot of the winding, grilled-iron stairs he stopped. 

"I never noticed a stairway here before. Where does this go?"

"To Miriam's room. There are French windows that open onto the balcony up there." 

"They went on, making a complete circle of the house. And once more they were standing on the brick terrace. Mary Jane picked up the corsage she had left on the stone railing, and tenderly smoothed out the dried-up, brown petals of the wilted gardenia. She would keep it, she decided suddenly as she and Dane went back into the music room, for what reason she didn't know. Perhaps because it signified the end of one phase of her life and the beginning of another---

She came out of her dreamy revue with a bang as she realized that now Kelly whose presence still menaced any future happiness that she might have. Kelly was seated in one of the green chairs, relaxed, contented, and smoking a pipe. He had seen them, took the pipe from his mouth and smiled amiably.

"Hello, Uncle Art," Dane said easily, "How's tricks?"

"Not bad, boy. Good evening, Miss Lansing."

"Good evening." Mary Jane kept her voice steady, but she was suddenly tense as always her as though to delve into her innermost thoughts.

She pushed her hands nervously into the pocket of her coat. In one pocket were her gloves that she had stuffed in there the day before. She pulled them out and with them 

came a single sheet of worn white stationery folded over once. It fell open at Kelly's feet. 

He leaned down to pick it up mechanically glancing at it. The as his eyes took in something, his face grew stern.

"What is it, Uncle Art?" Dane asked quickly.

A now silent, grim Kelly his expressions still uncompromising handed him the sheet of paper. Dane regarded it incredulously for a moment and his face in turn grew grave.

"What's wrong?" Mary Jane asked breathlessly, pressing her hands to her throat. Wordlessly Dane handed her the piece of paper. It was a note printed in small neat letters; Mary Jane read it quickly. 

"'I will meet you as planned by the gate at midnight. I think you will be interested in what I have to say.'"

And it was signed merely, "A. S."

Mary Jane gazed horrified at the printed words; the black print swam before her eyes. Fear, dry, cold, terrible fear, pushed at her throat, making her breath come in long painful gasps. Her limbs seemed to have come paralyzed and she could neither move nor speak.

"You should have destroyed that note, Miss Lansing," Kelly said wearily. He reached up and took it out of her unresisting hands. At his words she flung off the numbing terror and straightened up proudly, her eyes meeting his squarely. "I never saw that note until now." 

"Do you expect me to believe that?" 

"Yes; it's the truth."

"Then how could the note the note have gotten into your coat pocket?" he queried disbelievingly.

"I have no idea. Anyone could have put it in I suppose. My coat has been hanging in the downstairs closet almost all day."

Kelly began, "Miss Lansing, I'm sorry but--" when Dane interrupted him. "Mary Jane, will you please wait for me in the library. I'd like to talk to my uncle alone." 

"Yes, yes, I'll wait." Mary Jane whispered.

After she had gone, Dane turned to Kelly, "Uncle Art, surely you don't believe that Mary Jane killed Amy Stanton."

"I not only believe it, but I have the proof."

"If you mean that note, then I don't think much of your proof!" 

"What's your theory?"

"It's a frame-up. The murderer is trying to divert suspicion from himself. Look Uncle Art, are you forgetting about the jade earring? Someone wanted it badly enough to take it from Mary Jane forcibly." 

Kelly shrugged, "We only have Mary Jane's word for that. Perhaps for some reason of her own, she didn't want us to take possession of the earring even though we have the other one of the pair."

"Then why did she tell you that she had found it at all?"

Kelly drew in on his pipe and smiled a little grimly, "To borrow one of your pet phrases to direct suspicion from herself." He frowned, "I'll be damned if I can see what a pair of earrings has to do with this case anyway?"

He leaned forward decisively, "Dane, I'm sorry, but it's plain enough that for some reason Mrs. Stanton wanted to see Mary Jane Lansing. She arranged a meeting with her. Miss Lansing didn't keep the appointment so Mrs. Stanton came up to the house. Miss Lansing met her in the hall and shot her. It could have been out of revenge probably, supposedly for blackmailing purposes. It couldn't have been easy for Mary Jane to stand by and see a fortune that she surely felt rightfully belonged to her go to a woman she must have learned to hate. " 

Dane said impatiently, "This afternoon you were sure that it was Miriam Parker who Amy Stanton had come to see." 

"That was before I found the note." 

"That note be hanged!" Damn it, Uncle Art, I'm not going to stand by and let you arrest an innocent girl because you need a conviction to save face with the district attorney and the city politicians!"

All at once Dane's anger went and he sat down on the edge of a chair wearily. "I'm sorry Uncle Art, I shouldn't have said that." Dane interrogated suddenly, "Suppose we talk this over calmly. We're supposed to be two grown adults but we're certainly not behaving like it right now." 

"Forget it, Dane." Kelly said evenly, "I understand how you feel." 

"Uncle Art, would you make a bargain with me?"

"What kind of bargain?" Kelly asked warily. 

"Believe it or not, I want to fly to California. I think the answer to this whole business is there. While I'm gone will you promise not to do anything one way or the other about Mary Jane? In fact this afternoon, I talked to the coast from Boston. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it sooner but it didn't seem to be the right time before I have one of the best detectives in Los Angeles working on the case, but there are a few angles I'd like to investigate myself." 

Kelly thought it over. He said at last slowly, "All right, Dane, but I can't give you much time. If Miss Lansing is guilty, she must be brought to justice. I'll do the best I can for you, I'll wait three days. If you haven't any proof against someone else by then, I'll be forced to arrest Mary Jane Lansing for the murder of Amy Stanton."


End file.
